


Own and Make Me Yours

by SweetestHoney



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: But it's there, I took canon and put it in a blender on 'puree', I tried not to be too graphic with that, Inspired by The Accidental Warlord and His Pack Series - inexplicifics, King Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Slave Jaskier | Dandelion, Warlord Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, just because Jask is a sex slave, more like, no noncon between main pairings, well sort of, while this is inspired by accidental warlord it's also pretty different
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetestHoney/pseuds/SweetestHoney
Summary: Jaskier, a royal pleasure slave, isn't exactly happy with his lot in life—he's  having sex with less than desirable nobles at a pace nobody would want—but he's learned to be content with it. Things could be a lot worse.On occasion, Radovid sends him away to bestow his services on nobles who aren't stationed at court. During one such trip Jaskier witnesses the murder of a noble he was supposed to be pleasing, and sees the faces of the assassins; to keep him from identifying them to the authorities, Jaskier is taken with them when they leave, and finds himself held in the royal palace of Rivia. Life in Rivia is anything but what Jaskier would have expected and both the king of Rivia and his right hand are unlike any nobles Jaskier has ever known; the more time he spends with them, the more he realizes that they might just be what they seem to be—good men.(regular updates Mondays)
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 210
Kudos: 659





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [With a Conquering Air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273713) by [inexplicifics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics). 



> Many thanks to Inex for writing the lovely Accidental Warlord series, which this is very loosely based on. Not a whole lot in common, but there are similarities in themes and I wanted to credit them because that series is great. Even more thanks to handwrittenhello for betaing and kicking ass at it! 💕
> 
> Updates will be on Mondays, I've got a good chunk written out so I should be able to stick to the schedule. Without further ado, I present the fic! 😁

Before Jaskier turned eighteen, he was treated the same as the other slave children. There weren’t many of them in the palace. Not many children were sold into slavery these days, and certainly not many who weren’t cursed in some way — a hunched back, a clubbed foot, a cleft palate—something that made their sale price worth more to their parents than a life of working in the fields or tending animals. 

The slave children in the palace weren’t physically or mentally damaged, though; they were mostly the children that had been born to the palace slaves—brought up as slaves and learning trades from their parents. None of them were all that close, since they were usually kept busy with one task or another instead of being allowed to play. 

Unlike the other palace children, Jaskier wasn’t brought into the world by two people who just happened to be slaves; no, Jaskier was  _ bred _ into existence—the result of a king ordering two of his most beautiful pleasure slaves to make a child. It wasn’t unheard of, but wasn’t exactly  _ common, _ either, since kings were usually the only people wealthy enough to own more than one pleasure slave, let alone be able to spare a couple for however long it took to conceive and birth a child. Jaskier wasn’t even sure which of the neighboring kingdoms had been the one to order such a pairing, since he’d been sold to Kaedwen when he was too young to remember. 

He didn’t truly care for anyone, not closely anyways, and even his owner King Henselt only provoked mild fondness (which he exaggerated a hundredfold in the man’s presence, of course). 

In the palace he was tasked with a multitude of menial chores and jobs—things like mopping floors, hauling flour for the bakers, helping the palace florists cut the needed vast amounts of roses for a royal wedding once, and even acting as a messenger, running back and forth between nobility in the palace, passing secret notes. 

The last job was his favorite; being trusted to pass messages deemed too important for the normal servants who waited on nobility. Paid servants could be bought off, while slaves weren’t seen as intelligent enough to bribe, nor were they allowed to own anything themselves—any slave trying to purchase something with  _ money  _ would only have been laughed at and then turned in to their owners for punishment. Neither would they be freed if their masters died, instead passed along with the rest of their worldly belongings, so there weren't any incentives to help someone who would want to do them harm. 

A sneaky little shit as a child, Jaskier took full advantage of the fact that searching for someone meant an excuse for being somewhere he shouldn’t have. Some days Jaskier just went exploring in the less used parts of the castle, running to and fro over empty halls, finding all sorts of odds and ends that made no sense. 

He did find the intended recipient and give them the message, of course, and usually not in an unreasonable amount of time. The trust and the freedom bestowed upon him when he was running messages never failed to make him glow so Jaskier made sure he was one of the best. He quickly became a favored messenger, since he wasn’t regularly demanded elsewhere, and a childhood of assorted chores meant he knew better than most where to find any given person in the palace. 

When he turned eighteen, however, it was another story. Years of manual labor interspersed with running meant he was lean but muscular; as soon as he hit maturity Henselt decided not to waste any more time, bedding him the eve of his birthday. As Jaskier bore him, tears leaking from his eyes, he realized that  _ this  _ was to be the rest of his life. 

Despite his despair at the thought, Jaskier quickly got the hang of sex; he learned how to give pleasure easily, without thinking. He learned how to get off without help from his partner, how to go through the motions without really taking stock of his body. Soon he had a place among the king’s favorites whores, kept comfortable on silky sheets with fancy jewelry marking him cared for. Owned. 

No matter how fondly he was treated, however, Jaskier still wore the raised, colored brand on his neck marking him property, not person, and he knew there was no way out of the role he was bred for. When others saw him they looked down their noses—even the nobility he was lent out to often saw him as a service their king bestowed on them, not a person. 

Soon after he turned twenty-five Jaskier was surprised to learn that he had been included as a part of a peace treaty with neighboring Redania. Henselt told him one night, sorrowfully, that in an attempt to make peace he’d offered his best pleasure slave to the neighboring kingdom in hopes that Jaskier would be able to curb the worst of the Radovid’s renowned anger with his skills in bed. Jaskier, well versed in court politics by now, had just smiled and promised to do his best while cursing Henselt in his head. 

While Henselt was by most accounts a young, new ruler who treated his subjects fairly, the king of Redania was  _ not _ known as benevolent, nor kind or smart. Instead he was rather power-hungry and he’d threatened to invade no less than three countries bordering his lands since Jaskier had come of age. Jaskier had learned (in whispered conversations nobody thought to hide from him) that the king of Redania was a cruel, small-hearted man who hungered for war, and he wasn’t looking forward to meeting the man himself. 

The time to leave came quickly and Jaskier, who wasn’t allowed possessions of his own, packed the few things he’d managed to squirrel away over the years. It wasn’t much, just the few clothes he’d been given and a handful of letters he’d found while exploring, the authors long dead but their words helping him learn to read and write, skills which he coveted. 

He wasn’t forbidden from learning to read and write, at least, but nobody thought it worth the effort to teach him. Another reason that passing messages was kept mostly to slaves—the majority could not read, so they wouldn’t be able to understand the notes. Jaskier used the messages to practice, spending hours running his eyes over letters and forcing them to make sense. Sometimes he even watched them written, his masters mumbling the words as they went along. 

Once his letters and his clothes were packed, taking up all of one smallish bag, Jaskier was hurried out of his rooms and instructed to wait with the other slaves that had been traded in addition to himself. They weren’t left alone for long, soon being herded towards the caravan that waited to take them to their new master. 

On horseback the journey from Kaedwen to Redania was about three days or so, if one hurried. Their caravan was fat with riches used to bribe Radovid from war, however, and the journey took about a week. Jaskier and a few other slaves walked alongside the horses and carts, not given their own. 

The days of walking weren’t too strenuous for Jaskier, since he was used to running a fair bit (he knew that as soon as he stopped being attractive he’d be sold to a lesser noble or, eventually, to one of the labor farms that would work him to death in a matter of years) but he worried for the others that he walked with. One was an older woman, one of the bakers who he was fond of and who made the best sweet rolls Jaskier had ever tasted. She’d been traded to Radovid for that exact reason. Jaskier was well used to walking, but Sophie was unused to the kind of effort that the trip required, and it showed. 

Several times Jaskier had to ask the leaders of their little caravan to stop so she could catch her breath. They didn’t often listen, but when Jaskier pointed out that it would be on their heads if the gifts to Redania arrived damaged, they agreed to stop once in a while so Sophie could take a small break. 

Even with the breaks she was worn down, panting, and whenever they stopped for the night she dropped right to sleep, unable even to stay awake to eat the meager rations they were given. Jaskier saved them so she could eat in the morning, on their way out of camp, and the thankful smiles he got were bright with her gratitude. 

All of their stomachs were cramping with hunger when they finally got to Redania, though, since food was lean and it had been a harsh winter. Jaskier hoped that it had been better in Redania, but as they traveled through the busy streets and crowded markets in the grand royal city, he realized that they’d had it the same, or maybe worse. 

Kids stood on every street corner, begging, their emaciated little frames making Jaskier’s heart hurt. He had nothing to give them, though, and he just looked away instead. Plenty of vendors called out to them, offering food, whores, anything they could want, but they too seemed a little more desperate than excited for the sale. 

The rest of the city was much the same and they were shepherded through the throngs of people, their guards more than willing to use short clubs and swords to get the general populace out of their way. As they took a turn the palace finally came into view, looming high over the rest of the city, set safely back and out of the main bulk of buildings. It probably should have looked magnificent, all storied towers and beautiful carvings along the many, many pillars that made up the face of it, but as Jaskier looked on all he could see was the gilded prison that was set to keep him inside for however long the king wanted to own him. 


	2. Chapter 2

At the palace, Jaskier followed their procession up far too many flights of stairs and into the palace proper. He offered Sophie a shoulder to lean on after the first flight, and by the time they were at the top they were both panting hard.

The Redanian palace was similar to Kaedwen’s in that it was large, opulent, and generally far too grand considering the sheer number of starving citizens just outside the gates. But Jaskier knew his place and bit his tongue, though it wasn’t as if he could have really discussed the subject with anyone either way. The other slaves would have walked away from him in fear if he’d broached it with them and any non-slave wouldn’t have deigned to listen to what he had to say. 

Their caravan was greeted by manservants and eventually brought to the castle’s steward, who looked over the haul with a haughty sniff. He started ordering servants about, directing cargo to and fro, while Jaskier, Sophie, and the rest of the slaves stood to the side, unsure where they were to go. After most of the items had been unloaded, the steward turned to them, giving them an even more judgemental look than he did the goods. 

“And you. Come forward, one at a time, and state your craft. Why you were sent here.”

It was rather blunt, but Jaskier had heard a lot worse. He shot a look at the others, who all looked frozen to the spot, and decided that he could go first. 

He took a step forward, looking down at the shoes of the steward. “Hello sir, I’m Jaskier, sent by king Henselt to Redania as a part of the peace treaties. I’m a pleasure slave, king Henselt’s favorite; he wished me to bestow my abilities on king Radovid.” 

The steward seemed unimpressed, and made a note in the ledger he carried with him. “Hmm. Jaskier is a rather odd name.” Jaskier wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and he just shrugged at the man, still keeping his gaze respectfully downturned. The man finally sighed. “Alright, well, Radovid isn’t all that fond of male pleasure slaves. I don’t believe he was aware of Henselt’s… proclivities when he agreed to take you.” Jaskier kept himself still, not trusting his mouth not to say something stupid. The steward continued. “You’ll go by Julian from now on, and you can follow Roger—” He gestured to one of the guards that stood to the side with a hand. “To where you’ll stay. Roger, make sure he gets there in one piece, and I’ll tell Radovid of his arrival. The king can decide what’s to be done with him.” 

Roger nodded with a grimace before turning and heading towards a door off to the side. Jaskier had to scramble to catch up with him but eventually found his feet, giving Sophie a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying off. Her eyes were wide as she watched him go but Jaskier couldn’t read the emotions in her expression. 

As he followed the guard Jaskier cast his eyes about, tracking the path they took through the large palace and making a mental map as they went. He wanted to get the layout of the place as soon as possible; hopefully he could offer his services as a messenger. 

They finally reached another door, leading down a small set of stairs carved into the stone itself, and Jaskier paused. He’d never been much of a fan of tight spaces, and while this wasn’t the worst he’d seen, it still gave him pause. Roger started down the stairs without a backward glance at Jaskier, but when he realized only his own footsteps echoed against the stone, he swung back around with a sneer. 

“Follow, slave.” His voice held all the disgust that Jaskier knew to expect, and he didn’t flinch through years of practice. Roger crooked his finger, gesturing to Jaskier to follow him, and Jaskier sighed before putting one foot very carefully on the top step. 

With his eyes on his feet and not at the close walls and ceiling he made it down the stairs eventually, finding that they let out into a small room which also had a rather low ceiling. It was better than the stairs, but not by much, and Jaskier kept his eyes on his feet for more than just the usual respect when Roger stopped. 

“Slave quarters are down here. They’re divided by work and then by gender. Pleasure slaves”-- he sneered the words—“are all the way down, on the left.” Jaskier looked up just enough to see that the man was pointing down a dim hallway lined with doors on either side. Roger didn’t seem interested in accompanying him the rest of the way, so Jaskier gripped the strap of his small bag tighter and nodded before starting down the hallway. 

He heard Roger turn and leave after only a few steps but didn’t look back, instead focusing on his feet and the slow walk. If the room he was given was the same as the hallway, Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d survive. Maybe nobody would mind if he slept in the gardens, in a tree or somewhere else out of the way. It’d be cold in the winters, but still better than this. 

The last door on the left was quite a ways and Jaskier passed the time by counting his steps. It was past five hundred by the time he reached the end of the stone hallway, one door set into the wall at his left. He stared at it a moment and hesitated before opening it. Since Roger said that first the quarters were divided by work and then gender, it was unlikely to be a private room. 

He was right--when he pushed the door open he found himself in a common room of sorts, with a small sofa on one side and a table in the middle. There were three girls sitting around the table, all holding cards and trying to gauge each other; when he opened the door they all turned to look at him instead. 

The girl closest to him stood, her eyes narrowed. “You’re new, and you’re in the wrong place.” 

Jaskier just looked at her, unsure what she meant. 

“This is pleasure slaves only,” she continued. If you’re looking for...” She looked him up and down. “Hmm, kitchen help is two down, and gardening is three.” 

She was very no-nonsense. Jaskier just stared at her some more, confused. He opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but she held up a hand. 

“No. I’ve seen your kind before, and the answer is no. We’re property of the king, not you, and we will not be interested in helping you out with  _ anything _ you’re after.” 

Something clicked in Jaskier’s mind and he realized why all three of them were so tense. Clearly, living near the other slaves, some of which were big brawny men who did manual labor all day, had led to some… misunderstandings in the past, something which he couldn’t fault the girl for being wary of in the slightest. 

He held his hands up, palms out, to show he meant no harm. “I’m not—I’m actually a pleasure slave too.” All three girls huffed in disbelief in unison, which had Jaskier fighting back a smile. “I swear it--I’d offer to show you but I doubt you’re interested in the tricks I can do.” He shrugged. “I was traded here from Kaedwen, from King Henselt’s palace, in the name of peace. I was one of his favorites and I was promised in the peace negotiations. I guess Radovid forgot to specify that he wanted a woman.” 

The girls still looked wary, but nobody stopped him when he dropped his bag to the floor and pointed to the empty chair, silently asking for permission. The girl still standing gave him a tight nod and he dropped down into the hard wooden chair with a sigh. 

“How come the ceilings in here are higher than in the hallway and the stairs?” It wasn’t the question he’d meant to ask, but the words made their way out of his throat anyway. He’d been too preoccupied to notice at first, but he didn’t quite feel like the walls were closing in on him like they had on the stairs. 

The girl to his left chuckled. “Because nobody cares. The slave quarters were carved out down here because there was no more room in the palace, and they only did the bare minimum for people to be able to live. But since we live here, and nobody else comes further than the hallway, everyone ended up just making the rooms bigger, so it’s more comfortable. We had to do it slowly, but it was worth it.” 

Jaskier nodded at her, shooting her a grin. “Well that makes sense, thank you. And really, thank you for carving out the rooms, I had already started planning to live in the gardens if there was a low ceiling in here like in the hallway.” 

The girl smiled back, and Jaskier noted that she had a beautiful smile to go along with her golden hair. “I’m Essi, it’s nice to meet you.” She held out a hand and Jaskier shook, both of them beaming. 

“J—” He paused. “Julian.” He looked to the other two girls, who still seemed a little suspicious of him. He held out a hand to the one who had stood, and she took it warily. 

“Priscilla.” They shook, and then Jaskier turned to the last girl, who hadn’t said anything yet. He offered her his hand, and she took it after another moment’s hesitation. 

“I’m Cassandra.” They shook and Jaskier leaned back in his chair, looking at the girls. 

“So, my ladies, I have heard that at some point I’m to be given a bed. Perchance do you know where it may be?” At his question all of them looked uneasy once more and Jaskier frowned. “What is it?” 

Priscilla was the one who finally answered his question. “There are… all of the slave quarters are split by gender into dormitories, but since it’s only us girls down here we took over both rooms so we’d have more space. We’ll have to move stuff around if you want the men’s room, and the other girls are out so we need to wait until they get back before moving their things.” 

Jaskier nodded. Since they had nothing or what amounted to nothing, what meager possessions slaves could claim ownership of was sacred; other slaves knew better than to touch without asking. But Priscilla’s explanation also had him wondering. 

“If it’d be too much trouble and end up with all of you, however many of you there are, stuck together in one room, I don’t want to put you out. I wouldn’t be against just having a bed to myself wherever there’s a free one, since I feel I’d get awfully lonely by myself.” He raised an eyebrow and Priscilla’s unease only grew. 

“I really don’t know about that. We’re—it’d be indecent, you know, we change clothes in front of each other, but with you…” She trailed off. 

Jaskier shot her a winning smile. “Worry not my dear, because I promise you I pose no threat. My personal tastes run more similarly to yours and you’ll find no wandering eyes or hands from me.” She didn’t look entirely convinced, but her frown lessened and the other girls also looked relieved. 

“Well, if you’re sure of that, it  _ would _ be better for everyone, not having to move.” Essi’s voice chimed in from Jaskier’s other side, and he turned to face her with another smile. 

“Why thank you, darling, I’d rather not put myself in everyone’s bad graces the instant I arrived by turning them out of their beds.” 

Essi chuckled and nodded before pointing to another door that led off the common room. “Rooms are in there. I can show you if you’d like?” Jaskier nodded to her and she jumped up from her seat, already walking over to the door. When Jaskier looked back to Priscilla and Cassandra they were both fighting smiles at Essi’s excitability. Jaskier had to tamp down one of his own. 

He followed Essi through the door after scooping up his bag, and found a small hallway that led to two more doors, both of which were propped open. Jaskier could see messily made beds through both doors and several articles of clothing strewn about. He grinned, sensing kindred spirits in them already, and Essi led him through the door on the left. 

Three beds sat covered in stuff, and two more sat empty. Jaskier pointed at the empty bed furthest from the door and Essi nodded. He put his small bag down and looked around, taking in the small room. It wasn’t cozy, but it was lived in, and the girls seemed to like it well enough. When he looked back to Essi, she was watching him. 

“How many girls are there? Total, I mean.” 

She chuckled. “Seven total, not counting you now. The other room has four. I figured having you in here with us would be easier.” 

Jaskier nodded, surprised that she’d put him in the room she slept in, regardless of the promises he’d made as to his interest. He wouldn’t have faulted her for putting him as far from her as possible. 

Essi shrugged back at him and nodded towards the door once more. “Well, if you’re fine with that one, we should probably get back out there. We’re required to go upstairs soon and I’ll bet they’re going to want you with us, so the king can decide what to do with you.” 

Jaskier nodded, queasiness settling into the pit of his stomach. He knew he was good, great even, at what he did, but if the king didn’t want him—wasn’t even  _ interested _ in trying—he might be sold off to a lesser noble or to one of the labor farms. That would be the worst option. Jaskier had long since made up his mind that whenever he was finally sold to one of the labor farms, he wouldn’t live for the length of the journey it took to get there. A quick, painless death was better than being worked into the ground. 

He followed Essi back into the common room, where the other two were still waiting. They glanced at Essi and then at him before shrugging. “Gotta go soon, you ready?” Essi nodded at Priscilla, and then Priscilla looked to Jaskier. “You’ll come up with us. The king likes at least three of us on hand at any given moment, so when the shift changes we’ll take you with us so you can see where we’re going.” She grimaced. “Even if he doesn’t want you, he’ll probably have… others that’ll take what’s offered without a question.” She paused. “You might end up busier than any of us.” 

Jaskier felt the unease in the pit of his stomach grow. She wasn’t wrong—there were a few nobles only interested in men in every court, and if these ones had been particularly starved of those attentions, he would likely end up passed around and spending much more time  _ upstairs _ than the girls did. It didn’t bear thinking about, though, and he covered the worry with a jovial grin. 

“Well, we’ll have to see. Maybe I’ll be able to convince the king to like me. A mouth is a mouth, after all.” Priscilla looked unconvinced, but Jaskier paid her no mind. 

Soon they all left the small quarters, walking one in front of the other down the narrow hallway. Jaskier held his breath as they walked. When they were about halfway down, Essi, who was in front of him, held out a hand to him. He took it gratefully and squeezed, probably a good bit harder than she’d expected, but she made no sounds of protest, just squeezed his back. 

At the top of the stairs, Jaskier finally let Essi go, taking a deep breath and suppressing a shiver at the sensations the stairs gave him. He hated them with a passion already and he got the feeling that it would only grow with time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I absolutely almost forgot that it was Monday and I'm trying to stick to a schedule, oops lol.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note - I'm sure I've marked it in the summary and in the tags but Jaskier *is* a sex slave in this and as such he has to partake in sexual acts that he would not otherwise be inclined to do so. So if you don't want to read about someone who has to perform and receive sex acts against their will (it's not violent, per se, just not what he'd have chosen - still rape but it makes a difference to some people) I'd suggest not reading this fic. I'm not gonna do a whole bunch of the noncon stuff but it's gonna be here since that is a part of his life at this point in the fic. I do promise that sooner or later he will not be in the situation where he feels he has to perform sexual acts on penalty of punishment, though.

The walk was a short one, and soon all four found themselves in a large hall that looked like it was set for dinner. The table at the front was raised up, so the rest of the diners could see it, although nobody sat there now. Priscilla pointed over to a dais beside the front table. “During meals, when we’re on duty, we stand there. The king likes to show us off.” Jaskier gulped, eying the dais. He’d never been  _ shown off _ before; Henselt would usually just find him when he needed or tell him who to go to for the night, but never… displayed like a prize. Like an  _ object _ . 

Despite Jaskier’s misgivings he followed when Priscilla led him away, with the other girls following in his wake. 

The next area they entered was the kitchens, where Jaskier was instructed when and what he’d be fed—at the beginning and end of each shift. The girls all sat to eat, scarfing their food, and Jaskier joined them, eating as hungrily as they were. When they finished, Priscilla led the way out of the kitchens, but not before Jaskier spotted Sophie standing with the other bakers. He broke away from the girls and ran over to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“Jaskier!” She hugged him back, face pressed against his neck, and shoved an extra roll into his hands surreptitiously. Jaskier accepted the food with wide eyes and stuffed it into his shirt before anyone else saw what she’d done. Giving her one last squeeze he finally let her go, stepping back with a smile. 

“It’s Julian now, Sophie.” he wryly reminded her. Sophie nodded at him and Priscilla pulled him away before she could say anything further. 

Once they were out of the kitchen and away from the kitchen staff Jaskier showed them the roll and got approving smiles when he ripped it in four pieces, handing them each one. It was gone in four big bites between them, and the girls all sighed. 

“Mmm, that was  _ great _ , Julian.” Essi threw her arms around his middle, surprising him, and Jaskier only barely avoided both of them landing on the floor. Her use of his new name also set his stomach churning unpleasantly. He shook himself once they’d righted, trying to ignore the discomfort at answering to a different name, since he  _ would  _ be called whatever his owners wanted, regardless of his own preferences. 

Finally, Priscilla led them into a grand antechamber where the king and what Jaskier guessed were a few other nobles sat around a table. There was another dais there, four bored-looking girls standing on it. The nobility didn’t look up when they entered, but the girls on the dais did, all of them perking up and then frowning when they saw Jaskier a part of the small group. 

Priscilla came to a stop before the table, head bowed respectfully while she waited for the king to turn to her. 

He ignored her standing there, instead continuing on with his conversation. 

“-the White Wolf, really, what an absurd name.” The man sitting across from the king had a nasal voice and the prissy sort of expression that spoke of many years spent advising royalty - it was likely nobody had dared disagree with him in at least a decade. 

The king nodded, looking bored. “Yes, well, I gather they didn’t have much choice in the matter. Seems that he’s the last in the line of succession,  _ unfit _ for the throne of course, but they’ll realize their folly soon enough.” 

The noble he was speaking to nodded, his lips pursed. “I’ve no doubt Rivia will be left in ruins before too much longer, unless they revolt against his leadership.” He rolled his eyes. “The gods know that the peasantry doesn’t usually have such good sense, but we can always hope.” 

The king chuckled. They continued talking for another few minutes, devolving into more boring court politicking, and Jaskier let his attention drift as he waited for either man to acknowledge Priscilla standing there. 

King Radovid eventually wound down the conversation and dismissed the nobles with a hand before turning to her, raising an eyebrow. 

“What is it?” His tone was sharp and annoyed, and she kept her head bowed, gesturing to Jaskier with a hand. 

“My lord, I present you Julian, your newest pleasure slave. He was part of the gifts from Kaedwen, from King Henselt. You were promised the king’s finest pleasure slave, and Julian is he.” 

Jaskier, who had also bowed his head respectfully, looked up through his eyelashes and got a glimpse of Radovid’s face. The king’s jaw was tight and a vein pulsed in his forehead; before Jaskier looked away again he noticed that Radovid’s face was quickly turning purple. 

He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to address the king or not—in Kaedwen, he’d been able to speak more or less freely (it had gotten him into trouble more than once) but he wasn’t so sure it’d be allowed now, and didn’t want to find out the hard way. He kept quiet. 

After another minute of silence, Radovid finally spoke. “You.” He pointed at Jaskier. “You say you’re the favorite of King Henselt? What talents do you possess?” 

Jaskier gulped and nodded, still not looking up as he did, since Priscilla hadn’t looked up yet. “My lord, I—I am quite talented in bed, I’ve been told my mouth is equal or better to any cunt, and I’ve also got training in music, theatre, and art.” 

The king hummed, which Jaskier took as a good sign. For once in his life, he stayed quiet. Eventually, the king spoke again. “Hmm. Well, I suppose you could be worse, although I’m fairly certain that Henselt sent  _ you _ on purpose to fuck with me.” Jaskier wasn’t sure he agreed—the king had been truly sad to see him leave, but then again, he hadn’t been sad enough to try and  _ keep  _ Jaskier. Radovid waved a hand. “Very well. If you’re trained as you say you are, we’ll find you a lute or something and you can play when needed.” 

Jaskier almost stopped breathing; the offer seemed almost too good to be true. Not having sex and getting to play music instead? 

The king continued, uncaring about Jaskier internal thoughts. “You’ll also service my nobles as the girls do. There are plenty who are desperate enough not to care you’ve a cock.” Jaskier’s heart sank, but he ignored it. It was still a far too reasonable offer (well, not offer so much as order), but he couldn’t see any unexpected downsides to it yet. 

The king waved his hand again, dismissing them, and Priscilla got a hand in Jaskier’s shirtsleeve, tugging him towards the dais where Essi and Cassandra already were. Priscilla joined them, tugging her shirt off so she stood in only her skirt and pointed Jaskier to the spot next to her. He stepped up, and Essi gave a quick tug to his shirt from behind him. He’d been expecting that and he shrugged out of the shirt, dropping it where the others had left their own clothes. 

They stood there for a while longer as the king moved over to a desk and rifled through some papers for a while, clearly looking for something. He didn’t find whatever it was, apparently, and after some more rifling he sighed. 

Jaskier nearly jumped when the king turned towards them. “Go. I’ve got to find something in my study, you go to the dining hall.” Priscilla, Essi, and Cassandra all nodded at the king before slipping off the dais, gathering their shirts but not putting them back on. Jaskier joined them, picking his own shirt off the ground, and followed when they left the room. 

As soon as the heavy door swung shut behind them, Jaskier turned to Priscilla. “We’re really just supposed to stand there quietly? All day?” 

She gave him a questioning look and nodded. “Yes, at least until the king wants us or lets one of his nobles use us. Why? What did you do for Henselt?” 

Jaskier shrugged, following as she led the way back down to the dining hall she’d shown him earlier. “Mostly nothing, but I had expensive rooms and I was able to wait there for him. He’d come to me when he wanted me. I also had reign to go out, as long as I made it clear what I was doing; I helped in the kitchens sometimes, when the king was away on business. That’s how I know Sophie.” 

All three of the girls were staring at him now, and he frowned back. Essi was the first to speak. “You just… got to do what you wanted? You had nice rooms? Better than what we’ve got now, or  _ nice  _ nice?” 

Jaskier chuckled, but it was mirthless. “Nice nice. Almost as good as the king’s himself, since he visited often and didn’t want to fuck me somewhere horrible.” 

The girls all nodded—it made complete sense—but they still seemed shocked. Priscilla gave Jaskier a knowing look. “You might have more trouble here if that’s what you’re used to.” 

Jaskier shrugged again. “It’s not so bad. The only thing that’ll be a pain is that we’re not supposed to speak without being spoken to. At least, that’s what I gather?” Priscilla nodded. “Right, well, then I’m sorry to you all in advance. I’ll be talking your ears off whenever I can, since I’ll have to get it out of my system one way or another.” 

Essi giggled and Jaskier grinned at her. She waved a hand at him. “I don’t mind. You’ve been fine so far.” Jaskier gave her a pat on the head and chuckled back at her when she pouted and reached up to fix her hair. 

“Yes, well, tell me that when you have to listen to me relearning how to play the lute—I haven’t played in ages and I’m probably rusty.” 

They made it to the dining room without trouble, although Jaskier’s presence with them got them more than a couple looks in the halls. Jaskier tried to ignore them as the girls did, but he wasn’t used to being the center of so many people’s stares. 

Without preamble the girls got up on the dais, looking bored, and Jaskier joined them. The dining hall was mostly empty since dinner wouldn’t be served for a while, but there was the occasional servant or slave bustling to and fro, fixing table settings and lighting candles and the like. Jaskier’s legs started to ache from standing after a while, and he shifted around, bending his knees and trying to shake the pins and needles from his feet. 

Essi noticed him moving and frowned at him. “Unless we’re being told to do something, we’re supposed to stay still.” 

Jaskier grimaced. “Ugh. That’s frustrating. How do you manage to stand here all day long?” 

Priscilla shrugged. “Practice? I don’t notice it anymore, really. You’ll get used to it.” 

Jaskier harrumphed and dropped the subject, stilling once more. 

When people finally started filing into the dining hall the four of them got more than a few curious looks, most of them directed towards Jaskier. Jaskier fought the urge to glare right back and instead averted his eyes whenever he saw someone staring at him. 

Soon the hall was full and Jaskier had to force himself not to look around. The court he’d grown up in was a fairly casual affair (except in certain circumstances, like royal events) and for the most part they hadn’t had a formal dinner every night. This already seemed so different and the sheer number of people milling about made him nervous. 

When the king entered there was a loud scraping as everyone stood, turning towards him as one. Nobody sat back down until he sat at his place at the head table and he waved a hand towards them. 

“Sit, eat. Enjoy this fine meal.” 

The gathered audience needed no more encouragement and they dug in as soon as the servants started bringing out food on large platters. It smelled heavenly, and Jaskier’s knees went a little weak with hunger as he saw the spread. Dinner hadn’t been nearly enough to offset the emptiness that had made a home in his gut after long days of travel and little food. He gave a wistful sigh as one of the servants walked especially close to the dais carrying some kind of roast meat that looked juicy and delicious, and Priscilla elbowed him gently. 

“Don’t stare. We get to eat once we’re done and staring at the food is just an invitation for them to withhold it.” She had a point and Jaskier forced himself to look away, towards the far side of the hall. 

Dinner seemed like a mostly uneventful affair and as Jaskier noted the meal coming to an end, he relaxed, glad for the coming end to the spotlight they were in. Before he could whisper a question to Priscilla and ask what happened next a man stood from one of the tables, facing the king. 

Immediately the three girls next to him tensed. Whatever the man was about to say Jaskier got the feeling he wouldn’t like it. 

The hall quieted, looking between the man and the king. Eventually Radovid waved a hand at the man, looking bored. “Go on.” 

The man cleared his throat and glanced over at the four of them on the dais before looking back to Radovid. “Your Highness, I’ve noticed that you have an additional pleasure slave tonight. A man.” Radovid nodded. “I would like to humbly request that, if it pleases my lord, we may be given a demonstration of the man’s talents? We’ve seen your beautiful women pleasure each other before, but I believe it would be a novel experience to witness your newest addition in action. Only if it pleases my lord, of course.” 

The man bowed his head deeply, waiting for Radovid’s reply, and Jaskier suppressed a shudder. He got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time the man had made such a request, nor would it be the last. 

Radovid cast a considering eye towards the four of them before looking back towards the man. “What would you have them do?” 

The man shifted his feet. “If it pleases my lord, I would greatly enjoy seeing your newest slave pleasuring one of the women with his mouth, for all to see.” 

A shiver went up Jaskier’s spine at that and he stared even more aggressively at the ground. He  _ liked _ the three girls he stood with—they’d been kind and accepting and not at all annoyed at having to show him around. He’d expected that he’d be required to demonstrate his skills before long, but not with one of the girls. It felt too much like an invasion of privacy, especially since he’d already promised he didn’t want them. 

The king looked over at them again, this time with a little more interest. He ran his gaze over the three girls before shrugging and turning back towards the man. “I don’t see why not. Which girl were you thinking of?” 

The man’s response was immediate and he pointed towards Priscilla without hesitation. At the choice Jaskier let out a breath. He didn’t really want to do anything with any of them but if the man had picked Essi, Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it. He already regarded her as a little sister more than anything else. 

Jaskier looked towards the king, who waved an impatient hand. “Very well, pleasure her.” 

Jaskier turned back to look at Priscilla, who had a determined expression—her mouth tight and her brow furrowed. He bit his lip, begging her with his eyes to understand how much he hated having to do what was being asked of him, and her eyes softened as she looked back at him. She nodded, giving him the okay to do what he had to do, and he smiled back thinly in thanks. 

Unsure where to begin, Jaskier turned towards her, hesitating, and she rolled her eyes before grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him in for a wet kiss. Jaskier went with it, letting himself fall into the pattern of giving pleasure that he’d learned by rote. 

The hall was rather quiet behind him and Jaskier tried not to think about how many people were watching them. Instead he focused on his actions, bringing one hand up to cup Priscilla’s ass, pulling her tight to him. He wasn’t particularly hard, which was fine, since he only needed to pleasure her. She gave a little jump when he tugged her close before wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Soon, Jaskier broke the kiss and moved his mouth to her neck, kissing down the column of pale skin. He didn’t bite or tease the skin there with more than lips and tongue, knowing how nobles got when their pleasure slaves were marked up, and he felt more than saw Priscilla throwing her head back with a moan. 

He was glad that she was playing along; Jaskier knew full well that he hadn’t done anything deserving of that kind of reaction yet. Hopefully they’d get through this farce and be done with it before long. 

Priscilla’s hands were still in his hair and she used the grip to push down on his head, shoving at him until he knelt before her, eyes level with her core. Jaskier looked up at her, fingers playing along the hem of her skirt, and she met his eyes, biting her lip and looking for all the world like she was already overcome with pleasure. With his back to the rest of the room and nobody able to see his face except her and the two girls to either side of them, Jaskier gave Priscilla a broad wink, hoping she’d understand. 

When her expression twisted, like she was holding back a grin, Jaskier smiled, glad she’d understood. He leaned forward to press a kiss against her stomach and she moaned loudly. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her skirt, Jaskier slowly tugged it down, kissing along each inch of skin that was exposed. After he got the skirt over the swell of her hips he gave one more sharp tug and the skirt fell to the floor, pooling around her ankles. She was bared to the room, her cunt covered with a soft layer of curls, and Jaskier pressed his nose against her hip, dragging his teeth softly over the skin there. 

She groaned again and bucked her hips forward, pressing his face closer to her core. Jaskier took the hint to just get on with it and brought his hands up to grip her ass, holding her tightly in place. With broad, steady licks he slowly laved over her clit, working the nub until she was panting and moaning with every breath. 

For a moment Jaskier considered faking it, just pretending to lick at her and letting her moan and whine above him like she was already doing, but he shook the idea off almost immediately. For one, he wasn’t sure how much everyone in the hall could see, and if anyone thought that he wasn’t actually pleasuring her, he’d probably have hell to pay. For another, well, Jaskier  _ was _ good at what he did and he wasn’t about to make it harder on her to fake—if he could arouse her even a little, it’d be much easier for her to fake it. 

Priscilla tugged at his hair, and Jaskier realized he’d been lost in thought, licking at her slowly and without any real purpose. He immediately redoubled his efforts, curling his tongue and dipping lower to lick into her cunt a little, lapping at the slick there. He was sure her abilities to pretend were top notch but she couldn’t fake being wet, and he felt smugness at actually making her feel something warring with queasiness at how much neither of them wanted to be doing this in the first place. 

He dismissed his thoughts and refocused on Priscilla, moving one hand so he could curl two fingers inside her, rubbing against her inner walls until he found the spot that had her crying out. He kept at it, not slowing or letting go of her, and soon her gasps and moans got louder, building to a crescendo pitch as she rocked against him, screaming out her ‘orgasm’. Jaskier worked her through it, there was no sense in not being polite, and when she finally quieted, letting go of his curls, he drew back and looked up at her. 

Her expression was relaxed, a soft expression on her face, and Jaskier smiled, glad that they hadn’t managed to completely destroy their budding friendship. When he finally stood and turned back towards the assembled nobles they were all staring; some with disgust, some with lust, and some who seemed more confused than anything else. He was well aware of the sticky mess that was his face and wiped the worst of it off with his wrist, hoping he was allowed to do so. 

As he looked back towards the table where the king sat Jaskier noted that the king looked thoughtful, eyes roaming over the four of them. Jaskier wasn’t sure he would  _ like _ whatever the king was thinking at that moment, but he was glad that at least the king seemed pleased with their performance. 


	4. Chapter 4

The dining hall cleared out slowly, some nobles drifting over to rake hungry eyes over the four of them. Jaskier kept himself still, not looking at anyone in particular, and from behind him Essi laid a gentle hand on his lower back. He wasn’t sure what she meant by it, but the hand didn’t move. He let himself lean back against it. 

When the king stood from his place at the high table, Priscilla stood straighter, still very naked from Jaskier’s ministrations. She looked back at them and nodded. The slaves followed the king from the room, trailing behind him and the nobles fawning around him for attention. The four of them weren’t hiding, exactly, but Jaskier noted that Priscilla took the lead and she made sure they were far enough back that no nobles thought to break away from the small group to come leer at them instead. 

Finally the group reached a set of chambers—gigantic and luxurious and absolutely made for a king. There were quite a few rooms, and the group stopped in one of the antechambers, which held small sofas and tables for playing cards or simply conversing. The king sat himself down on one such sofa and looked over to the group of pleasure slaves with a bored expression. After a moment of study he raised a hand and pointed at Essi, beckoning her forward with a finger.

Essi quickly stripped herself of the rest of her clothes, tossing them haphazardly to the side and making her way to where the king sat. She draped herself over his legs and laid her head against his shoulder, his hands coming up to her waist to steady her without looking away from the conversation he held with someone sitting across from him. The other noble also didn’t seem to notice or care about the naked woman now making herself at home in the king’s lap, and continued talking. They stayed like that for long moments before another of the nobles approached the chatting duo and Essi. 

While Essi made herself comfortable on the king’s lap, Priscilla led the other two over to another dais, set in the corner of the room. When Jaskier saw it he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t help but mutter under his breath. “Gods, how many of these things does he  _ have _ ?” Cassandra chuckled, covering her mouth, and Jaskier shot her a grin as they took their positions. 

Jaskier watched the man who’d approached the king bow before stammering out a request with shaking hands. By his clothing, he looked to be some sort of duke, and Jaskier nearly ignored him entirely. The king didn’t seem surprised by the interruption, glancing at the duke before looking back to the slaves standing off to the side. When he looked back to the duke, he waved a hand, and the duke thanked him eagerly, pressing a kiss to the king’s knuckles before departing his side. Jaskier couldn’t help but eye the man up, judging him as he approached.  _ Those clothes are probably last season’s fashion and he walks like a duck, he’s probably lucky to have been granted the king’s favor at all. _

The duke made his way over to their dais, eyes searching over all three of them as he walked. As soon as Jaskier had seen the king look over to them he knew what was coming—he resisted the urge to flinch when the man came to a stop right before them. Jaskier noted that he was thankfully looking mostly between Cassandra and Priscilla, although Jaskier didn’t want them used in such a way either. 

When the duke offered a hand to Priscilla, helping her down off the dais, she went without objection. The man shot her a mean sort of grin and she just smiled serenely back at him, already (Jaskier could tell) in the headspace where she’d started tuning out the world around her and going with whatever happened. 

Not too much time later another man approached the king, repeating the same pattern as the first, and the king waved his hand in permission once more. The man came over, pulling Cassandra down less politely than the first, one hand wrapping firmly around her wrist. Jaskier frowned as the man tugged her away, disappearing through a doorway and out of sight.  _ If he leaves a single bruise on her, I’ll...I’ll make sure Essi drops a suggestion in the king’s ear that the man had damaged the king’s property. _ The threat was a lame one, but Jaskier didn’t have many other options for keeping nobles in line. 

Jaskier stayed on the dais for a while longer and most of the assembled nobles petered off over the course of the evening. Eventually Priscilla returned looking only a little worse for wear and stinking of sex and men’s spend. She shared a look with Jaskier before climbing back up onto the dais. He didn’t dare reach for her but he offered a commiserating frown when their eyes met. 

The odds that Jaskier would go his first day without someone having him were slim, he knew. As he saw a third man approach the king he tensed, looking over to Priscilla. As the man spoke with the king, she shook her head and whispered in a voice almost too low for Jaskier to hear. “If the king accepts their request to play with us—and he doesn’t always, he likes to give gifts to his favorites—if they pick you, you go with them back to their rooms usually. Most aren’t too far, just come back here once you’re done if they don’t want you to lie with them a while longer.” 

Jaskier nodded at her, missing the rest of the exchange the man had with the king in order to give her a nod of thanks. She didn’t smile back at him, looking too tired to do so. 

When Jaskier turned back to the room at large, he noted that the man was making his way over to the dais, eyes firmly fixed on Jaskier this time. He was a large, boorish man dressed in the finery that befit him as a member of the king’s court, although Jaskier was at a loss to his exact status, given that the noble finery was different in Redania than in Kaedwen. Jaskier ignored the curl of disgust in his gut and smiled at the man with a ‘come hither’ smile, openly preening at the attention. Jaskier was nothing if not one of the best, after all. 

The man barely stopped at the dais, gesturing Jaskier down with an impatient frown before turning and stalking back towards the entrance to the room. Jaskier followed, settling into a pace just behind the impatient man as he led the way down the corridor outside. As he followed the man he couldn’t help but take note of all of the potential exits along their route—a habit he’d never been able to break, despite knowing he’d never be able to use it. 

They finally reached a door and the man opened it, shoving Jaskier through without much care to his comfort. Jaskier didn’t protest, knowing it wouldn’t do anything, and instead bowed his head, standing ready for whatever the man asked of him. 

He wasn’t expecting it when the man fisted a hand in his hair, yanking him forward so hard that he landed with a thud on his knees, hands flying up to catch himself before he landed nose-down on the hardwood flooring. The man let go of his hair, laughing, and from above him Jaskier heard the noises of a belt being unbuckled. He pushed himself back up to his knees and spread his legs for balance, facing the man and staring at his feet. 

“Fuckin’ whore.” The words were disgusted and when a cock pressed against his lips Jaskier leaned forward, swallowing it down in one go. The man wasn’t overly large, which he was thankful for, but he could tell the man wasn’t as much of a fan as bathing as nobles tended to be.  _ So be it _ , Jaskier thought, and he bobbed his head, slurping and licking at the man as though he was made of chocolate. 

Jaskier hadn’t had any chocolate in a while. As he worked, he lost himself in a daydream about happening upon some. He made a mental note to ask Priscilla if there was a chance he could get his hands on any while he was there—unlikely, but worth asking about. 

When the man grunted above his head and came down his throat without any warning, Jaskier swallowed, throat working to milk the last drops of come from the man. When he’d finished, he leaned back on his heels, keeping his eyes on the floor still. The man used a still-booted foot to kick him in the side, but not hard, and Jaskier took the blow without flinching. The lack of response seemed to bore the man and he grunted again before walking away, sitting on the edge of a chair to pull his boots off. 

“Go, I’m done with you.” It was a dismissal, and Jaskier didn’t give the man time to hesitate, up on his feet and out of the room in an instant. The hallway outside was empty, and Jaskier headed back the direction they’d come from, taking his time. It was the first time he’d been alone in a very long time, and he wasn’t about to go running back just to stand on that stupid dais. 

As he walked, Jaskier looked around the castle, taking in the architecture. It was different from what he was used to—he could tell that the styles had changed over time, that the palace was built in an entirely different time period than the palace in Kaedwen. 

All too soon, Jaskier found himself back in the king’s sitting room, the king himself not there. Priscilla and Cassandra stood on the dais, but the room was otherwise empty, and Jaskier slowed to a stop when he entered, looking around in surprise. 

He didn’t stay still for long, though, and he quickly rejoined the other two on that blasted dais. Jaskier looked from one to the other in question, and Priscilla sighed, running a hand over her face. 

“The king’s chambers are through there, and we wait here while he’s… otherwise engaged, or sleeping.” Her lip curled the slightest bit and Jaskier realized that Essi had been the one on Radovid’s lap earlier, and she was the one missing now. He frowned. 

“So Essi is in there with him?” Priscilla nodded at him. “And once they’re… finished, will she sleep in there or come back out here?” 

Priscilla shrugged. “Either. Usually he’ll send us back out here once he’s come, but lately he’s taken a liking to Essi.” Her expression darkened, and Jaskier frowned further. “Sometimes she stays with him.” 

Jaskier nodded, falling silent. The three of them stood like that for a while longer, and Jaskier felt himself losing his mind slowly as they waited with nothing to do. They couldn’t even sit down, since if anyone came into the room they were supposed to be standing, according to Priscilla. 

Just before dawn, Essi slipped out of the door Priscilla indicated as the king’s bedchambers and made her way back to them. She offered Jaskier a weak smile when he looked at her with concern, and waved off the hand he held out to help her up. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothing broken.” 

It was only after she spoke that Jaskier saw the handprint-shaped bruises on her hips, plus a couple smaller bruises on her breasts. Jaskier did  _ not _ like the look of the bruising, but Essi seemed determined to act like it was alright and he let her have that. 

After dawn broke, the girls Jaskier had seen only briefly the night before came to take their place, nodding at the four of them as they switched. Jaskier was grateful that they’d swapped out before the king left his bedchambers, since he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control the expression on his face. 

Priscilla led the weary group back down to the kitchens for their meal, and after they were finished eating, they made their way back to the rooms they’d been given. In the kitchens, Jaskier didn’t see Sophie. He was glad that she’d probably been allowed to sleep, though he missed her. She was one of very few people here who he’d known for more than a day, and he missed that connection to ‘home’, as much as he considered the Kaedweni palace home. 

It was with weary, sore bodies that they reentered their quarters. Jaskier flopped down on his bed with no preamble and he heard the others do the same. He fell asleep within minutes, drifting off into an exhausted unconsciousness. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late!! Things have been crazy this week, my apologies, and hopefully I'll be back to our regularly scheduled posting schedule from now on. I hope you enjoy this (slightly late) chapter though!

Time passed, and Jaskier found himself getting used to the rhythms of the court. He and the girls spent half their days either standing on stupid daises or fucking. He got used to the ache in his legs, the stiffness that came with standing still for so long. Radovid seemed content to let his nobles use Jaskier as they saw fit, and he never requested Jaskier personally, something Jaskier was glad for. It meant seeing the other girls come back from the king’s rooms bruised and limping, though, which he hated more than anything. They insisted that the king was far from the worst to deal with when he pressed them, however. 

Jaskier eventually was given a lute, and even allowed to play sometimes, for events where the king wasn’t interested in letting guests have free reign over the pleasure slaves. Jaskier would play and the girls would dance, and it was a very nice break in the otherwise monotonous parade of days he found himself trapped in. Those days were the best, when Jaskier got to play and sing, and he savored them. 

He and the girls grew closer and he found himself learning more about them and sharing parts of his own life in turn. In his old life, he’d known the other pleasure slaves, but there had always been a tension between them, since there had always been competition to become the king’s favorite. The favorites were treated almost as well as the king himself, getting the best rooms, the best food, wines, and trinkets. But here, since all the pleasure slaves were treated the same and the only rewards for being favored were bruises, Jaskier felt no such competitive urges, and found himself enjoying the companionship. 

The other thing that broke up his days was the occasional trip that the king sent him on. Radovid wanted most of his nobles at court to keep a close eye on them and ensure nobody was plotting behind his back, but there were the occasional few that couldn’t stay most of the year at court, either because they actually had to stay to tend to their lands or they were unable to make the trips back and forth. 

In those instances Radovid still needed to make sure that the nobles were loyal; he would send Jaskier or one of the girls out to their lands—both as a way to ensure their loyalty, and also so he could have his guards and other advisors escort them and do some poking around while they were there, looking for any signs of treasonous behavior. 

It wasn’t often when Jaskier would be sent out, usually it was one of the girls, but he got to travel a handful of times in the first two years he was at Radovid’s court. He found that he loved these excursions, since he got to see the countryside, something he hadn’t ever really gotten to do, and the nobles he was sent to service were generally much more palatable than the ones he dealt with in court. The first few times he’d gone, the men were so busy actually running their lands that they barely even had time to fuck him, and when they did, they were more than happy with just the basics, instead of requesting exotic acts or otherwise dangerous activities. 

The fourth time he was sent out was about two years after he got to Radovid’s court. He was to visit an older baron, a man who was much too frail to travel to court and back, and so stayed at his barony most of the year. Jaskier, who always kept his ears open for court gossip, had heard of the man before—that in his prime he’d been a force to be reckoned with, and that even now that he was old, he still had a mind that was sharp as a tack. 

Jaskier set off to the baron’s lands without much delay, accompanied by a handful of guards and two advisors to the king. The advisors were there to look into the finances of the baron’s lands, since he’d not been able to make a profit in the three years since he last made the trip to court. Before then, the lands had been plenty profitable, and Radovid had instructed his advisors to find out why that had changed. 

Arriving at the barony, Jaskier looked up at the mansion, taking in the structure. It was less opulent than the palace, but then again, most everywhere was less opulent than the palace. But it also looked more run down than the other homes of nobles he’d visited, and Jaskier took it all in, cataloguing everything in his mind. He never knew when he might need the information, but it might come in handy someday. 

When their little party arrived they were shuffled into a receiving room and made to sit on uncomfortable couches. The guards that accompanied Jaskier and the King’s advisors only stayed for a minute sweeping out of the room, presumably to seek out the barony’s guard to discuss logistics. That left Jaskier with the two advisors, waiting to be greeted by the baron and baroness. 

It was the baroness that arrived first, and she curtsied to them, smiling softly. She had a pretty face, Jaskier noted, and soft, kind eyes that one didn’t usually see on nobility. She  _ also _ had a bruise that peeked out from underneath the collar of her shirt, one that looked suspiciously like a man’s hand. 

When the baron himself arrived, he walked with a limp and used a cane. Jaskier studied the man, taking in the details of his appearance. His clothes were pressed sharply, not a hair out of place, and even though he walked as though he was in pain, he still held his head high, sneering down at all of them as though they were particularly offensive bugs. No doubt he knew the king had ulterior motives for sending them, and he wasn’t happy about the intrusion. 

The advisors talked first, making a fuss about how much the king valued the baron’s services and how he wanted to pay back the baron’s generosity with a gift, one of his pleasure slaves to use as he saw fit for the week. Jaskier wasn’t made aware of the timeline before then and he shivered when he heard it. The past few times he was sent away, he’d been there for a few days at most, usually two or three. A whole week meant that the king probably wanted to give his men time to snoop, and Jaskier wasn’t sure that boded well for him. 

When Jaskier was introduced, the baron looked him over with a frown before looking away, seemingly uninterested. In contrast, the baroness did a double take when they mentioned that Jaskier was a pleasure slave there to take care of her husband. Jaskier had expected some amount of jealousy from her, considering he’d be bedding the man she was married to, but what he didn’t expect was the sheer, full throated relief shining from her face as she looked him over. It took him by surprise and he had to turn away, lest she be able to read the confusion in his expression. 

Jaskier wasn’t made use of immediately (at least not for his intended purpose) as the baron was otherwise occupied with the king’s advisors, going through his most recent reports of income with them to see if there was anything that could be fixed. It was a terribly dull and boring discussion of which Jaskier wanted no part of and so he stood, dipping his head at the men standing around papers piled on the table. 

One of them finally looked up to see him waiting and grunted out permission for Jaskier to speak. “If it pleases my lords, I would assist the servants of the manor with their duties, possibly helping to cook or clean, so long as my presence is not required here.” Jaskier kept his tone dutifully cowed and didn’t even so much as glance up, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his feet. 

After a moment of hesitation, in which Jaskier presumed that the king’s men were looking to the baron for his approval, the man finally spoke. “Go help them, then. But find me after dinner.” 

Jaskier dipped his head even lower in thanks before making his escape from the room. Once the door shut behind him he wrenched his head upwards and looked around. It wasn’t an overly complex building and he quickly located the kitchens, which were bustling with activity as the servants and few slaves owned by the baron prepared for the feast signaling the arrival of the king’s men. 

For a few minutes Jaskier did nothing but watch the busy activity, taking note of who seemed to answer to who and where the power structure was. It looked like there were a few men in charge of the cooking, two women (twins, by the looks of them) who the bakers deferred to, and then a handful of other servants who weren’t involved in the food preparation itself but instead busied themselves with table linens, place settings, and the like. 

There was also one older woman who sat in a chair at the back of the room, not moving much at all. As people rushed around her they took care to give space around her chair, circling wide so as not to bump into her. Every once in a while, someone would approach her with a question and be given an answer that sent them scurrying away in another direction almost immediately—but not without a quick word of thanks to the woman. 

Jaskier knew instinctively that she was the one he needed to speak with. He finally stepped into the bustling kitchen and was given only a cursory glance by most of the people there. The brand on his neck marked him a slave, although not what kind unless you had the requisite training to read the markings carved into it, and they had more important things to do than to figure out why he was there. 

The old woman seemed more interested in Jaskier’s arrival than the others, and Jaskier wove his way around the throngs of people before coming to a stop in front of her. He dropped to his knees before her, bowing his head (although not so deep as he did for the nobility) and tipping it to one side so she could see the brand marking him. It was customary to do so when meeting house staff, so they could see you were there to assist and not interfere. 

The woman hummed at him, saying nothing, and shifted in her chair so she could lean forward. Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin when she ran a finger down the brand on his skin, tracing the raised edges. Touching was  _ not _ customary. 

“You’re property of the king.” It wasn’t a question, but Jaskier nodded at her anyway, looking up to meet her gaze. Since she wasn’t nobility, it wouldn’t offend in the same way—and Jaskier was deeply curious about what she thought of him. She leaned back in the chair with a nod. “Well then, go on, tell us your name.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth and then stopped. He was Julian to the king and the nobility, yes, but this woman was neither. If she told the advisors that brought Julian, though, he’d be in trouble if they caught him going by another name. Eventually he made his decision. 

“I’m known to the king as Julian, madam.” 

The woman clicked her tongue. “Don’t ‘madam’ me, I’m not one of the lords and ladies upstairs.” She harrumphed and waved a hand at him. “Cilia is fine. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t actually give me your name, just what you’re known as.” 

Jaskier actually smiled at that, looking up at her. She might have been older, but she clearly hadn’t slowed a day. “My apologies, Cilia. I’m known to the king as Julian, but the name I was given at birth was Jaskier.” 

She hummed again, looking him over. “Well, if you wish to be of use, then we have plenty for you to do around here.” She gestured at the surrounding servants, who had slowed to watch their interaction. “Although if my guess is correct, you weren’t brought here to help in the kitchens.” 

Jaskier nodded at her again, not breaking eye contact. “I’m a pleasure slave, to service the baron for the week.” At that the woman’s expression fell, and she nodded at him like it was what she’d expected him to say. 

“While the king’s men search this place from top to bottom to see if the baron has been stealing from him, no doubt.” The woman wore a wry grin now, even as she reached out to land a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. She met his eyes, serious once more. “If you’re to entertain Szymon for the week, you should know that it won’t be a pleasant experience.” 

Jaskier nodded, biting his lip. He’d expected as much from the way the baroness had looked at him. Cilia continued. “He’s a mean one, and in bed only more so. I’ve had to clean up girls from the village in the mornings more than once.” She gestured vaguely between her own legs, and Jaskier grimaced at the reminder. “He enjoys inflicting pain, boy.” 

Jaskier nodded again, looking away from the woman. “Thank you for the warning, Cilia, I appreciate it.” There wasn’t much he could actually  _ do _ with the information, of course, but he knew she was endangering her position there to even tell him that much. He looked to the side, eyes roaming over the bustling servants as they went about their duties. “The baron and the king’s men are going over his documents right now and as I won’t be required until after dinner, I requested that I be allowed to help in the kitchens, so as to make myself useful.” 

Cilia smiled at him and shook her head, leaning back. “Oh you’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Jaskier said nothing, only looked back at her. “Very well, I’m sure there’s something that needs doing that you can help with.” She cast her own gaze around and landed on one of the girls in charge of the bakers. 

With a motion Cilia gestured the woman over and she hurried to comply, coming to stand at the side of Cilia’s chair. “Yes, Cilia?” 

Cilia gestured down towards Jaskier, who still knelt by her legs. “The boy wants to help, but he’ll only be free until dinner is finished. You have something he can do?” 

The woman nodded before looking Jaskier over critically. He offered her a smile in return. “I’ve helped with baking before, I’m friends with one of the bakers at the castle.” He didn’t get to see Sophie often, but whenever they did cross paths he got a hug and usually some kind of bread stuffed into his hands before she had to leave. “I know how to haul bags of flour at least as well as the next slave.” 

The girl nodded, apparently satisfied by his qualifications. “You’ll do. I’m Julie, my sister is Janey—” she pointed to the woman Jaskier had assumed was her twin, “--and I can show you where the flour is. There isn’t much to be moved, but when you’re done you come find one of us and we’ll give you something else.” 

Jaskier smiled at her again and nodded, taking the hand she offered to help him off the floor. “Lead the way, my lovely Julie.” He capped it with a wink, not too lascivious, since he didn’t want her to think him amorous, but cheerful and jovial despite the rolling pit of worry in his gut. If he was to spend the night with a monster of a man, Jaskier was determined to put it out of his mind until he couldn’t. 

Julie showed him the storeroom and where he needed to haul the bags of flour to before leaving him there. Jaskier set to work, humming idly under his breath as he went and hopping out of the way whenever anyone else entered the small room in search of something. It was nice to be doing physical work and he was able to lose himself into the ache of his muscles, humming as he wished. 

When the task was finished he found Julie, who sent him over to one of the others who put him to work running back and forth between the kitchens and the dining room, carrying buckets of silverware. Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d have been able to place the silverware in order, but luckily there were servants waiting for him in the dining room that took the buckets from him. They’d finished with the first buckets by the time he was back with the second, and he marveled at their speed and efficiency as he watched them work. 

By the time he was done with the silverware, he found his way back into the kitchen. Julie caught him and set him to work once more, this time pulling freshly baked rolls off pans and piling them up on round plates that were ornately edged in gold. 

That task lasted him until the start of dinner. When he finally finished with the rolls, Jaskier looked up to find most of the kitchen having gone still, the servants and staff all sitting down or chatting quietly with each other. A few still ran about, but for the most part it seemed that their dinner preparation was finished and now there was a break before all of the dishes needed to be washed. 

Jaskier wandered back over to Julie and Janey, who were talking off to the side of the baking ovens. Julie saw him coming and gave him a grin. 

“Ah, thank you so much for the help, we appreciate it.” She reached out and clasped his shoulder, less formal than the servants at the palace were by far. At the palace, there was always a clear distinction between those that were employed and those that were owned, and the servants still treated the slaves as  _ lesser _ . Some of Jaskier’s surprise must have shown on his face, as Julie’s smile softened. “We’re not so formal here, everyone pitches in and everyone’s work is appreciated.” She shrugged. “I’ve never really seen any difference between us and the slaves, it’s not like you’re any less of a person because of it.” 

Jaskier’s eyes were even wider now and he moved his mouth a few times before he could get words out. “I—my lady, I truly appreciate you saying so but I—I must beg you not to say such things in earshot of the king’s advisors who accompanied me here, nor the guards.” He swallowed hard. “It’s not… I would worry for your station here, my lady.” 

Julie didn’t seem nearly as worried as Jaskier thought she should be, but she shrugged as she looked him over. “I won’t. But you should eat something, dear, if you can.” The softness in her voice as she spoke to him meant Cilia had made it known why he was really there, and Jaskier wasn’t sure whether to be grateful he didn’t have to explain it himself or embarrassed that they all seemed so  _ worried _ for him. He’d been a pleasure slave since he turned eighteen, there was very little that Jaskier hadn’t dealt with before. 

Instead of saying any of that, however, Jaskier just nodded at her and flashed a grateful smile. “Yes, I could definitely eat.” 

Hefound himself being led by the arm through the kitchen and back towards a separate area he hadn’t noticed. It was mostly empty, but there were a few people sitting on the bench seats and eating. They didn’t look up as Janey tugged Jaskier along. 

Janey, as it turned out, was a talker. She babbled on as she led him about the night’s dinner and how the bread had come out a little overdone than she usually preferred but how Julie had insisted that it not be underdone, as that would be worse. Jaskier, who hadn’t noticed anything about the rolls that would suggest them either over- or underdone, kept quiet, his own impulse to talk nonstop somewhat squashed from a year spent silently standing naked for others’ viewing pleasure. Finally she stopped at a long table at the back that had all manner of food laid on it. It wasn’t quite the fare they’d served to the guests, but it was a far shot better than what Jaskier was used to. 

As he picked through the mildly stale bread and cold cuts, Jaskier realized that it was probably the remnants of the nobles’ lunch, since lunch was a more casual affair and the nobles generally didn’t eat all that was provided. When he looked at Janey, she nodded and gestured him on, urging him to pile his plate high. 

Jaskier did with no small amount of glee. It had been ages since he’d been able to eat without someone handing him food, and the simple joy of picking his own portions was something he savored. He was careful not to take anything too heavy, since he knew what kind of a night awaited him after dinner, but he still managed to get a good taste of everything on offer. 

Janey sat with him as he ate and chattered away, even managing to draw Jaskier into conversation more often than not. Her cheery disposition made her easy to talk to and he found himself telling her stories from before he belonged to Radovid, when he was allowed more freedoms. She ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed at the appropriate moments and before long Julie and Cilia had joined them, each with their own plate of food. The meal was lively, and Jaskier found himself having a better time than he’d had in a very long time. 

Soon, though, they heard the sounds of the dinner upstairs finishing up, and all heads turned towards the ceiling. Jaskier frowned before standing up and pushing away from the table. He turned to the three of them and nodded. “Thank you for the meal. I have duties to attend to, however, so I must take my leave.” 

It was probably overly formal, but whenever Jaskier got nervous he tended to slip back into what he was trained from a young age. Everyone who wasn’t also a slave was his better, and should be treated as such. It didn’t matter that they’d treated  _ him _ as an equal so far—his nerves had him only half paying attention to what he was saying. 

Nobody protested his leaving, but before he could step away Cilia reached out to grab his hand, stopping him. 

“Come find me tomorrow morning, and I can patch you up. I’m sure the baron won’t need you much during the day, and we can find something for you to do that will be out of his sight.” 

Jaskier nodded in thanks to her and she let go of his hand after one more squeeze. None of the women looked happy to be letting him leave, but Jaskier couldn’t let that shake him. 

He worked his way out of the kitchens and towards the dining hall, where the shuffle of people still echoed from. It wasn’t nearly as many as in the palace, but it was still a good number and as Jaskier rounded the last corner and found himself in the room he sighed in relief that nobody had left yet. He wasn’t sure what would happen were he to be late to meet the baron, but it wasn’t something he was intent on finding out if he could help it. 

Jaskier spotted the baron quickly. He stood in a small group with the king’s two advisors, talking in low voices as Jaskier approached. When Jaskier reached the men he stood to the side and waited, head bowed, for them to finish their conversation. 

The baron wrapped up the discussion quickly when he saw Jaskier waiting for him, and Jaskier tried not to let his apprehension show on his face. When the baron wrapped a surprisingly strong hand around his wrist and tugged, Jaskier followed him out of the room. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it's been quite a week! I'm so sorry that I didn't post anything last week, I live in Texas so I was without electricity from monday to thursday and didn't get back to my house (and my computer) until friday, at which point I just kind of melted into my couch for a few days from all of the stress lol. But hopefully that's not gonna happen again anytime soon! (We're looking into installing solar panels on our house, lol, because fuck that noise) Anyway, please have this chapter and I'm sorry again that it's over a week later than I said it would be. I hope you like it!

Once they were in a side hallway, the baron let go of Jaskier so he could walk more easily with his cane, and Jaskier dropped back half a step, trailing the man on their way to the baron’s rooms. The baroness was nowhere to be seen—and Jaskier assumed she had her own set of rooms, as was customary with nobility. 

No words were exchanged as they walked, although Jaskier caught the baron giving him appraising looks every once in a while. When he finally stopped before the baron’s bedroom, the other man gestured him through the door with a roll of his eyes. Jaskier entered first and used the time it took the baron to close the door behind them to look around, taking in the room. It wasn’t ornate, but had simple solid furniture and lacked clutter. 

Jaskier turned back to the baron, lowering his eyes. “My lord, what would you like—” 

The backhand caught him off guard; Jaskier’s whole head whipped to the side with the force of it. The baron approached him, cane in hand and sneering. “What I’d _like_ is for you to keep your gods damned mouth shut unless it’s full of cock.” 

Jaskier nodded, closing his mouth with a snap. He lowered his eyes deferentially, waiting for whatever the man would do next. 

He didn’t have long to wait. The baron fisted a hand in Jaskier’s hair and pulled, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes as he was dragged towards the bed. Jaskier didn’t fight the grip, letting the man move him as he wished. Despite that, the baron seemed to enjoy hauling Jaskier around and didn’t let go of Jaskier’s hair until he’d thrown Jaskier onto the mattress. 

Jaskier landed heavily, looking back to see the baron quickly shedding his shirt and trousers. The baron looked up and caught Jaskier looking at him and his eyes narrowed. Jaskier averted his eyes, looking down, but he’d been seen already. 

The baron’s cane landed across his calves hard. Where it hit, it was like fire licking over Jaskier’s skin. He resisted the urge to cry out. He’d been hit plenty, but this wasn’t play hitting, or even just-a-little-too-drunk-and-didn’t-realize—it was very clearly the man enjoying causing pain, and wanting to hurt Jaskier as badly as he could. The cane came down on his thighs next, and he dug his nails into his palms in pain. 

“Clothes off.” The baron’s voice held no pity and Jaskier fumbled to comply, his hands unsteady on his buttons for the first time in years. He got the clothes off and lay back, looking up at the man still standing by the end of the bed. 

The baron scowled at him, looking Jaskier’s body up and down, and Jaskier resisted the urge to squirm. When the baron got his hands on the bed and hauled himself up, Jaskier held himself still, waiting for the man to come to him. 

He’d spent the night with sadistic men before—he knew the type—but over the course of the night Jaskier came to the conclusion that Szymon was determined to wring every ounce of pain he could from Jaskier. Jaskier would go so far as to hazard a guess that the man put off his own pleasure in the name of inflicting more pain. 

As he floated in the half-aware headspace he slipped into when things got unpleasant, listening with half an ear for more orders while the baron caned up and down his back, Jaskier spent some time reflecting on the fact that it was him the king had sent and not one of the girls. Did Radovid know about the baron’s… proclivities? That he’d likely be returning Jaskier worse for wear? The king was rather particular about nobody leaving bruises on his girls but him, but Jaskier wasn’t one of his girls, and the king couldn’t care less if he got smacked around a little. Maybe Radovid sent him on purpose, knowing that Jaskier’s injuries weren’t as important to him as the other girls’. 

On that note, Jaskier was torn. He’d not have wanted any of the girls to be in his place—none of them deserved anything like what he was being put through. On the other hand, however, Jaskier himself didn’t deserve it any more than they did, and he couldn’t help the tiny kernel of resentment that bubbled up as he stewed over the fact that he was more disposable than they were. 

He pushed aside the thoughts as he realized that he was tensing up, making the hits that landed on his skin hurt all the more. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, instead focusing on creating a detailed map of Henselt’s palace in his head from memory, the task just mentally intensive enough to draw his focus from what was happening to his body. 

\----

The rest of the night was more or less what Jaskier expected, and when he made his way down to the kitchens at dawn, looking for food and somewhere he could sleep for a few hours, he was bruised, achy and sore. The kitchens were already full of lovely smells, bustling with servants running here and there, and there what looked like two whole tables laden with platters of fresh fruit. 

Jaskier slowly made his way through the busy room. When he spotted Cilia sitting in her chair overlooking everything, he made his way to her. She spotted him when he was about halfway across the room and frowned; when Jaskier got there, he dropped to his knees beside her, letting his head fall down. 

“Hello, Cilia.” 

Her hand ran through his hair and he leaned into the touch, glad for some human contact that didn’t hurt. 

“You look like shit, boy.” Her voice held no censure and Jaskier laughed, even though the movement sent pain shocking through his chest. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have a few bruised—or maybe cracked—ribs. 

When Cilia dropped her hand from his hair he tried not to whimper and instead closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the peace of the moment. She cleared her throat above him and Jaskier looked up. Cilia held out a hand and Jaskier just looked to it, unsure what she wanted. 

“Give me your arm, Jaskier.” 

He gave the woman his arm and she inspected it, looking over the mottled brown and green bruises on the inside of his elbow. She grunted after a moment and let go of him, seemingly satisfied (or at least, unsurprised) with what she saw there. 

“Come. I’ll show you somewhere you can get some sleep. We’ll put you to work when you’re done sleeping, but you’ve spent the night working and need some well earned time off before having anything else thrust at you.” Cilia’s tone was no-nonsense. Jaskier nodded his head, following her when she stood from her chair. 

She led him out of the kitchens and along a narrow hallway that Jaskier hadn’t seen before, one that had many doors branching off from it. He followed silently, and when she stopped near the end of the hallway and indicated a door, Jaskier gave her a grateful smile and turned the knob before entering the room. 

It was plain and small, with a narrow bed and a chair and a table, but it was a sight better than anything Jaskier had to himself since arriving in Redania. He sank down onto the bed with a deep sigh. 

It was only after he lay down, curling around the worst of the injuries, that Jaskier realized Cilia hadn’t left when he entered the room. Instead she’d followed him in, shutting the door behind herself. Before Jaskier even had the time to tense up she was shaking her head and taking the chair, pulling it to the side of the bed. 

When he looked at her, confused, once more she held out a hand, silently demanding he give her his arm once more. He gave it, unsure what she planned to do, and she hummed as she looked over the bruising. With one finger she traced a circle around the worst of the marks, a dark purple ring in the exact shape of the baron’s teeth. Jaskier watched, entranced, as she circled the mark a few times, saying nothing, and only when she pulled her hand back did he see what she’d done. 

The changes were small, but as he inspected the spot she’d indicated Jaskier realized that the bruise was fading slowly, sinking away in what should have taken days, not seconds. Soon, the mark was mostly gone with only a faded yellow bruise marking where it had been. 

Jaskier’s eyes were wide when he turned back to Cilia. “You—you’re—” 

She shook her head, maintaining eye contact. “No. Not really. Not nearly enough to be taught how to use it, at any rate, but just enough to be useful for things like this.” She shrugged. “As a child I asked Aretuza if they’d teach me, and I got a rather rude letter back saying I wasn’t worth the effort.” 

Jaskier clenched his jaw, angry on her behalf. Magic was so rare and such a gift that they should have taken her, taught her to use whatever she did have, so she could help people. Instead she was stuck here in this third-rate barony, running the household. 

He opened his mouth to say just that but stopped at the look Cilia gave him. “Don’t you even start with that, I’ve made a good life for myself here and I’m happy. I’m probably better off than I would have been if they _had_ taken me up on it.” 

Jaskier frowned but was forced to concede the point. He imagined her training at Aretuza for whatever brief time they would allow, forced to work in soul-crushing courts after graduating. She would hate it. 

He shook his head, brushing off the thoughts and returned his focus to Cilia. “Well, I thank you for your help, Cilia. I know it must be draining on you.” 

She made a silly noise and rolled her eyes, still holding her arm out. “Yes, well, I’m not quite finished, if you please. Show me where the worst of them are and I should be able to do a few more before I’m tapped out.” 

Jaskier hesitated but eventually rucked his shirt up, showing her the bruises on his stomach and ribs. She didn’t wince when she saw them but her lips pursed as she looked him over. She lay her hands on the worst of the marks, right below the end of his ribs, and closed her eyes. Jaskier bit his lip as he felt the magic seeping into his chest, fusing bruised blood vessels back together until they were whole once more. When she finally pulled back, Cilia nodded down towards his chest. Jaskier looked down to find some mild bruising, but nothing like what had been there before. 

Cilia, when he looked back up at her, was a little green and her breath was coming harder. She reached for him again and he grabbed her hand, stopping the movements. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you doing this for me, but I think that’s enough.” 

She gave him a grumpy glare and raised an eyebrow, to which Jaskier just grinned. “Oh, I know, I know, you could make me do what you want, of course, but consider this; the baron has me for a full week, and he’ll surely be put out if I’m not bruised enough tonight when I go to him. He’ll want to see his handiwork over my skin, the marks he left, and if he thinks he didn’t leave enough or he was too light, he’ll just hit harder next time.” 

Cilia grunted and then let go of his hands, crossing her arms at him. “You’re too perceptive for your own good.” Jaskier just laughed, freeing himself of the last of the tension he’d been holding onto. 

“Yes, so I’ve been told. Now if you don’t mind, I’d love to rest and try healing with some of my own strength, so you can save yours.” She looked like she wanted to argue further, but Jaskier levered himself up and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Please, Cilia. I know you’ll probably insist on helping me the next few days as well and I truly do not want you overexerting yourself. If I’m to depend on you for kindness, I don’t think the rest of the staff would take it kindly if you ran yourself ragged taking care of me and keeled over in the middle of the kitchen floor.” 

He offered her a wry smile and Cilia just rolled her eyes again and pinched his cheek, looking fond. 

“Alright then, you little shit, I’m going to leave, and you’re going to _sleep_. Come back to the kitchen once you’re awake and we’ll get you some food.” She stood from the chair and wavered before grabbing hold of the backboard of the bed, forcing herself upright. Jaskier watched her and she took a deep breath, centering herself, before turning back to the door. He eyed her as she walked out of the room, but had to admit that she was probably fine and he was just worrying too much. The door closed behind her. Jaskier lay back against the pillows and traced the worst of the marks with his own fingertips, wishing not for the first time that he had the spark of magic too. 

When Jaskier next woke he was groggy, and in the dim light of the windowless room he looked around for long moments, trying to remember where he was. All at once the memories of the night before slammed into him and he groaned, flopping back down against the pillows as he remembered that he had almost a full week to go before he could finally leave the horrible baron behind. 

He dragged himself up and out of bed once he was fully awake, and, lacking any sort of plan made his way back to the kitchen. Cilia hurried him over to get some food, eying him while he ate to make sure he wasn’t skimping. Satisfied that he ate enough, Cilia then set him to work helping some of the bakers knead dough — it was hard work, and his wrists ached, but Jaskier didn’t complain. 

The rest of his week there passed without much change. He helped in the kitchens under Cilia’s watchful eye in the afternoons, his evenings spent the night with the baron. In the morning he left at dawn and then got fussed over by Cilia and magicked back to health, if only a little bit. His nights with the baron notwithstanding, Jaskier actually rather enjoyed it — he felt closer to Cilia and the others than he had to anyone in a long time, and he enjoyed the way they accepted him as one of them, as long as he pulled his weight. Nobody but the baron touched him and he didn’t even get any _looks_ from anyone else, which Jaskier was thankful for. 

So on his final day, when he’d rolled out of the baron’s bed for the last time, Jaskier made his way down to the kitchens with a heavy heart. The king’s advisors had reminded him that they planned to leave by noon, so he hoped to get a few hours sleep before they set off. When he found Cilia in order to ask her to wake him before then, she gave him a heavy look and a frown. 

“One of the girls will come to wake you up so you’re not late, I promise. Now get gone.” She shuffled out of the room, leaving Jaskier to his thoughts. 

Taking her advice, Jaskier retreated to the room he’d been given, his body protesting the treatment he’d received the night before. It took some time for him to find a position that didn’t press on any of his bruises, but eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. 

He awoke to a knock on the door he groaned, bleary and not nearly rested enough. 

“Julian, Cilia said that I’m to wake you up and if you’re not in the kitchen in ten minutes I have permission to dump cold water on you.” It was Julie and she sounded _entirely_ too enthused by the idea. Jaskier rolled out of bed and landed on the floor with a thunk before pulling himself upright, groaning again as he tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

“I’m up, I’m up, I’ll be out in a minute. No water necessary!” Her giggle echoed through the door even as he heard her walking back down the corridor. 

Jaskier gathered his few meager belongings before looking around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He’d only brought a few changes of clothes with him so it was quick work stuffing them back into his small shoulder bag and opening the door to walk back to the kitchen. 

When he got back to the kitchen, everyone was bustling around as usual, but there were more than a few people who stopped what they were doing to stare at him when he walked in. Unsure at the sudden focus, Jaskier ducked his head and walked over to Cilia’s usual chair. She looked back at him unflinchingly. 

“You’re really leaving, huh?” 

Jaskier nodded at her, unsure where she was going. “Yeah, I am. I’ll admit to being glad to get away from that horrid man, but I’ll miss you all.” He gestured around the bustling kitchen. “All of this, here. It’s been lovely to spend the week here. I’ll think fondly of you once I’m back at court.” 

What Jaskier was not expecting was for Cilia to stand up and wrap her arms tightly around his middle, crushing him to her body in a tight hug. After a moment’s hesitation he returned the hug, his arms much looser around her. She held on for longer than he thought she would, and when she finally let him go, she reached up and pulled his head down so she could press her forehead to his. 

“You won’t live like this forever. You’re going to find something better than all this.” She waved her hand, gesturing to the people still bustling around them. 

Jaskier pulled back from her, unsure what she was trying to say. “I—I really don’t think I will. I might end up at a different court where I’d be spoiled at some point but I’m already nearly too old for that kind of thing. Kings tend to prefer their boys pretty and soft.” He shrugged. 

She shook her head, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look her in the eyes. Jaskier stared back at her, waiting for her to explain. She retook her chair, just looking at him for long moments. 

“Healing isn’t the only thing I can do. Not much else, of course, and nothing worth mentioning for the most part, but sometimes I get inklings about people.” Cilia sounded tired and she ran a hand over her eyes as she spoke. “Not anything solid—I can’t tell you how long it will be until you escape that wretched king—but I know you’re going to find a way out.” She made eye contact with him, her gaze fierce. “You’re a strong kid and you’re going to find a way out for yourself. And it’ll be sooner than later.” 

Jaskier just gaped at her, unsure what to say in response. He shifted, uncomfortable with the attention, and Cilia just sighed. She lifted a hand and gripped his own, looking up at him. 

“Just promise me when it happens that you’ll try to see it as the blessing it is? I don’t—it’s not clear, I don’t get prophecies like that, but I know that it might come wrapped in pain.” She frowned harder at him. “Trust your instincts.” 

Jaskier gulped and finally managed to nod at her, still unsure how to reply. When she finally let go of his hand, he nearly stumbled, but Julie and Janey were suddenly behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder. 

“We’re going to miss you, Julian!” That was Janey, and she tugged him into a tight hug. Jaskier was so surprised by the movement that he nearly forgot to hug her back, his arms coming up and around her after another few seconds. Eyes open, he met Julie’s eyes over Janey’s shoulder and found the other twin smiling sadly, waiting her turn. As soon as Janey released him, Julie hugged him tightly as well, squeezing with a baker’s strength. 

The twins, having said their goodbyes, stepped back. Jaskier found no small number of others who he’d met and worked with over the course of the week stood gathered there to wish him well on his journey back to the palace. He’d expected a hug from Cilia, maybe the twins, but there were plenty to go around, and he got squeezed by what seemed like half the kitchen before they finally let him catch his breath. 

He was passed back to Cilia, still in her chair, and she gripped his hand once more. “You best be off, now, we don’t want your guards coming down here looking for you.” Jaskier nodded back at her, squeezing her hand in return and unsure what to say, faced with so much kindness from these people he’d only met a week prior. When he opened his mouth, trying to find the words, none came. 

“Slave! Get up here now, we’re not waiting on your pathetic ass if you’re planning on sleeping in any longer.” The yell from the ground floor down the stairs that led to the kitchen came from one of the guards who’d escorted Jaskier there, and he whipped around when he heard the words. 

When Jasier shot an apologetic look back towards Cilia she just waved her hands, shooing him off. “Go on, don’t give them any more reasons.” She winked at him before he turned back, however. “Come visit sometime, yeah?” 

Nodding, despite not knowing how he’d manage that, Jaskier turned and made his way up the stairs and out of the kitchen, back towards the guards who were waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone that commented last chapter about how the baron was absolutely gonna die like right at the beginning of this chapter, I'm sorry! I know, but patience, patience, I promise it'll work out. Eventually. lol.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear every week I go 'alright I have no excuses not to post the next chapter on time' and every week somehow ends up worse than the week before it lol. I know y'all aren't super interested in my personal life but suffice it to say that I've been getting up in the middle of the night for the past few days to medicate a cat that really does not want to be medicated so I am *very* tired at the moment lol. I would promise that this is the last time for sure but with the way 2021 has been going, I can promise no such thing. Ah well, I hope y'all like this chapter at least! 😁

On the road home, Jaskier had the time to really think about what Cilia told him. The king’s men and guards didn’t talk to him, except to give orders like ‘stop here’ and ‘eat this quickly’, which meant he spent the days walking alone with his thoughts. While normally he’d be working through a tune in his head, tugging around the notes and rearranging them until they were right, this time he spent half the trip home just considering what it might mean, that he’d ‘get out’.

He might be killed; that would surely count as getting out of this life. But he didn’t think that was what Cilia meant. She’d said he would find a way out for himself, like he’d be clever enough to see some trick or way to escape. Escaped slaves never lasted for long, though—their brands were too hard to hide, and since nobody would be willing to shelter a slave, he’d end up starving or eaten by a monster in the middle of the woods. 

But he would get out. Cilia had made it sound like something  _ good, _ like he’d be able to find a way out and live a good life afterwards. It would be a miracle, something nobody had seen (at least nobody that Jaskier had ever talked with). He’d heard talk of a colony of former slaves in Rivia—something about the king banning the practice and not sending runaways back to their kingdoms when they were discovered. 

It was a nice dream, for sure, but Jaskier wasn’t even sure if the town was  _ real, _ let alone how he’d make it from Redania to Rivia—and what he’d find there if he did. Nobody in Redania would be willing to talk with a slave about other countries’ slaving practices, and especially not if they suspected Jaskier would use that information to try and escape. 

He’d thought about running away plenty of times, mostly when he’d been a kid prone to fits of mood and melancholy. Despite never really knowing what it was like  _ not _ to be a slave, Jaskier had created worlds in his imagination in which he was treated like a person, where he could decide the fate of his own life. He clung to those imaginings later on, when he hit the depths of his hatred for what he was, but even then he wasn’t sure he was even imagining it correctly, having no memories to base it on. 

The first time he’d tried to escape, he was thirteen and the palace’s head baker caught him trying to steal some bread. When questioned, Jaskier had spilled everything to him, believing the man a friend of sorts. The baker was always nice to him, when Jaskier had errands in the kitchens, and on occasion slipped him a cookie or biscuit that came out misshapen. 

The baker had sat Jaskier down and instilled some truths in him that day that Jaskier hadn’t really thought about fully. He started by poking the brand on Jaskier’s neck, the one he’d had for so long he couldn’t even remember getting it. 

“What’s this?” 

Jaskier had fidgeted before answering, not looking the man in the eyes. “My slave mark.” He raised a hand up to rub at it, still not looking at the baker. 

“Yes. And do you know what it means to everyone you’ll ever meet? It means that you aren’t a  _ person _ . You’re property.” The man’s tone wasn’t unkind, and he reached for a loaf of bread cooling on a nearby tray. “This bread is property of the king, son, and if I were to eat it, I’d be risking a whipping for stealing from his majesty.” He held it in front of Jaskier’s nose, making sure he looked at it. “In the eyes of all the nobility, and most of the common folk besides, you and this loaf of bread are equals.” 

Jaskier pouted and crossed his arms in front of himself. “I’m not a loaf of bread! I’m a person.” 

The baker shook his head, tapping the bread with a finger. “ _ I _ know that, and  _ you  _ know that, but most people wouldn’t agree. Now, let’s say I didn’t catch you. You would have been caught by the king’s guards as you were trying to sneak out.” When Jaskier started to protest, the man held up a hand to stop him. “I know you thought your plan was perfect, but I can promise they would still catch you. And if by some miracle you weren’t caught, the first person who saw you on the street would know you were a slave, and considering how well kept you are, that you probably belonged to the king.” Jaskier deflated at his words but the man kept talking. “Now, if I were to steal this loaf of bread, I’d be whipped. You, as a slave, are worth  _ considerably _ more than this bread.” 

Still pouting, Jaskier looked up at the man, who continued undeterred. “So, if someone were to try to steal  _ you _ , they’d receive quite a harsh punishment indeed. Now, think with me for a moment. If it was  _ you _ that was trying to steal you, which is what running away is, you’d be the person they punished for the crime.” 

Jaskier winced, not liking the idea very much at all. The man’s point was a good one, even to a thirteen year old, and he’d shaken his head and taken the advice to heart. 

After that day he hadn’t planned escapes any longer, or at least, none that he planned on following through with. He still allowed himself to daydream about it, of course; it was one of his favorite retreats when he had to spend some time inside his head, trying to block out what was happening to his body. But that was all it ever  _ could _ be—daydreams. He hadn’t dared let himself have more, secure in the knowledge that every person he came across would see the mark on his neck first and see him as a person second, if at all. 

With that thought Jaskier filed the idea of escaping to become a free man away in his mind, confident that it would take no less than several miracles to make that happen. Instead he turned his thoughts back to composing, working on a new tune that he was certain he’d almost figured out. 

Composing took over for the rest of the trip back. When they walked through the gates of the royal city Jaskier blinked and looked around, certain that they hadn’t been walking for that long yet. As he counted back the number of days spent sleeping outside and trudging through the mud and dirt, he realized that yes, it had been the right number of days; his distracted mind had just slipped through the rest of the trip as though in a trance. 

Jaskier tried to shake himself out of it as they approached the palace, uncomfortable with the haze he’d fallen into. When the small procession finally entered the palace, Jaskier realized that either he’d forgotten something or things had changed in the short weeks they’d been away. The palace was much quieter than it usually was and all of the servants and slaves bowed their heads deeply as the king’s men passed by. Jaskier wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. 

They stopped off briefly in front of the door to the slave quarters. Jaskier was ordered back down to his room, instead of being taken to see the king. Jaskier hadn’t been looking forward to that in the slightest, so he bowed to the men before scampering down the stairs as fast as his feet would carry him, unwilling to take the risk that they’d change their minds. 

When he pulled the door open to the pleasure slaves’ quarters, he was met with Priscilla and Essi sitting at the table inside the common room, deep in conversation. They both perked up when he entered, and then Jaskier was being bowled over by an excited Essi, who wrapped both arms around him in a tight hug. 

“Julian! Oh, it’s so good to see you!” Her voice rocketed up in pitch as she spoke, the excitement clear. When she let him go he smiled down at her and ruffled her hair, making her frown and stick out her tongue at him. “Gross, you know I hate it when you do that!” 

He just chuckled and walked over to where Priscilla still sat at the table, watching them interact with a fondness in his eyes. “And hello to you too, my dear.” Jaskier kissed her on the cheek before sinking down onto one of the chairs. 

Essi stayed standing, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Julian, oh  _ Julian, _ I can’t believe you missed it, everyone’s been talking about it!” 

He turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “And what have I missed?” 

Priscilla sighed and shook her head, giving Essi a stern look. “It’s not something to be talked about with such  _ joy, _ Essi. We’re supposed to mourn along with the king.” 

The mention of mourning had Jaskier perking up. He looked from one to the other as he waited for the girls to tell him what had happened. Essi stopped her bouncing but still wore a wide grin and Priscilla sighed again, waving a hand to indicate Essi could spill whatever it was. 

“Oh Julian, there was an  _ assassination _ !” The words certainly didn’t match her chipper tone, and Jaskier just blinked at her for a moment. She sensed his confusion and schooled her face a little, at least enough so she could talk through the grin she still wore. “It was the Duke of Haverford; he was killed in the middle of the night.” 

Jaskier at once understood her excitement, and felt his own lips twitching up into a smile. The Duke of Haverford was  _ not _ a nice man, and Jaskier as well as all of the girls were well acquainted with his temper. He loved betting on horse races, but when he didn’t win, he drank too much and then begged the king to let him drown his sorrows with the pleasure slaves. He was rough and mean and generally a very unpleasant man to service at the best of times, and it usually ended with the slaves having to more or less carry whoever had been unlucky enough to be picked by him for the night back to their rooms. 

And he was  _ dead _ . Oh, Jaskier wouldn’t be losing any sleep over the man’s death, that night or any other. 

The rest of what Essi said rang in Jaskier’s ears and he turned back to her, eyes wide. “Wait, did you say  _ assassinated _ ?” She nodded. “By who? Why? He was a terrible man by all accounts, but I can hardly see a spy risking their position to kill him, or another country taking him out instead of the king.” 

Priscilla was the one who answered him, her lips pursed. “Nobody knows. Well, we know it was the Ghost, but nobody knows who the man is or how he kills.” 

Jaskier’s interest only grew at her words. “Well don’t skimp on the details now, darling, you’ve whet my appetite for a good story, hmm? Why, I might even get a good song or two out of the tale.” 

Priscilla’s eyes narrowed at him. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t bring this up within a hundred feet of the nobility. They’re all scared shitless and wouldn’t take kindly to the reminder.” Jaskier nodded at her, eyes wide. She groaned and rolled her eyes, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. “The Ghost is exactly what he sounds like. An assassin who’s lived many years and spent nearly as many killing nobility. And it’s not just random—he assassinates the worst of the worst, all over the continent. It doesn’t make a difference what country, how much security there is, nothing.” 

Jaskier was now fully invested in the story and he leaned forward as well, not wanting to miss a single word. 

Priscilla continued. “Nobody has a clue how he gets in and out, or how he decides who lives and who dies. But if there’s a noble who’s known to be rotten through and through, the Ghost will come for him eventually.” She shrugged. “The nobles are scared, and rightly so; any of them would probably qualify for the Ghost’s vengeance. He doesn’t kill often, though—just enough to get his point across and scare the nobility into line. If they don’t act too obviously, he’ll skip them, but when they get bolder he strikes.” 

Essi, who had sunk down onto a chair as well, gasped at the pronouncement. “You didn’t tell me this part, Pris!” 

Priscilla smirked at her. “You didn’t ask. Plus I thought it best not to give  _ you _ any more details, seeing as you’d be stupid enough to try to find the Ghost and thank him.” Essi bristled but said nothing, clearly interested in getting more of the story. “Anyway, the Ghost has been hunting nobility for nearing fifty years, keeping every court from here to Nilfgaard terrified. There’s no pattern, there’s no rhythm, they’ve not been able to find a single clue to the man’s identity or his reasoning for picking certain people over others. He usually goes for men, although I’d wager that’s more because men are able to produce cruelty at a level most women are incapable of.” She smirked again and Jaskier returned the expression, not disagreeing. 

“So he goes after nobles, killing them, and makes sure it’s known. The nobles hide it as best they can, but the kills are bloody and leave no room for guessing about why they were killed. Maids and cleaning girls and laundresses talk. Unless the nobility decides they’ll clean the sheets and the floors and the beds themselves, there will always be whispers when the Ghost strikes.” 

Priscilla coughed and straightened herself up, pulling her elbows back from the table as she realized she’d been slouching. When she spoke again her words held less weight, less ominous feeling. “That’s the rumor, anyway. It’s not necessarily true, of course, but that’s just what they say.” She shrugged, looking from Jaskier to Essi. “But don’t go talking about it around the nobility. They  _ won’t  _ take kindly to the reminder, and you’d probably find yourself whipped.” Jaskier and Essi both cringed, each of them having experienced one of Radovid’s punishments before, for real or perceived misbehavior. 

Jaskier shook his head. “No, definitely not. I’ll keep it to myself, but I have to wonder why I hadn’t heard about this before. It wasn’t like I didn’t hear most of the gossip passing through the court when I was with King Henselt, and I didn’t hear a breath of it.” 

Priscilla fixed him with a stare. “King Henselt runs a rather fair court, doesn’t he? Nobles are allowed to do as they wish, but if they start openly causing trouble or preying on young girls or things like that, they’re brought to task, no?” Jaskier nodded at her. “He’s one of the few monarchs that’s actually taken the Ghost to heart and tried to clean up his court, make sure that his nobility isn’t acting as monstrously as they used to, so he’s not had nearly the attention from the Ghost as our court has by far.” 

The explanation made sense but Jaskier fixed on something else she said. “One of the few? Who else is actually listening to the warnings for what they are?” 

He got a shrug from Priscilla. “I don’t know. I’ve heard of a few that saw what Henselt was doing, but they started late. They’ve got a lot of work to do before they get to the point he’s at with his nobles. I’d heard that the White Wolf of Rivia, the new king, has done a lot to set things right after the mess they had, although I’m not sure if the Ghost has visited there since Villem died." 

Jaskier perked up at the name. “Wait, White Wolf, I’ve heard that name before. Who is he again? Oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue, who was talking about it?” He frowned at himself. 

“He’s the current king of Rivia, but only because they had no other choice. Villem and his whole family died rather suddenly—some sort of illness, I think—and they had to trace the family trees pretty far down to find the next line of succession.” She eyed Jaskier. “He’s called the White Wolf because of his hair. He’s all white despite being barely thirty. I’ve heard it’s rather striking. I’ve also heard that he tried fairly hard to keep from being crowned king, didn’t want the title and tried to get them to king someone else.” 

Jaskier laughed, sure she was joking, but when he met Priscilla’s eyes she shook her head. “You can’t be serious. He truly didn’t want to be king?” 

She shrugged again. “It seems that way. But he was an only child, and the king’s advisors worried there might be a power vacuum if he didn’t agree to take the throne, since there was no clear line after him. He’d run away from home when he was younger, became a mercenary, a blade for hire for kings and men alike. I don’t even think he’d been back to Rivia until they found him and begged him.” 

Jaskier shook his head, stumped. The idea of a man who would not only reject noble blood, but turn to violence instead? “Surely this man has to be soft in the head, Pris. I can’t imagine it.” 

She gave him a strict look. “If you were told you were to be a king would you want it?” 

A bark of laughter escaped him again and he shook his head, still grinning. “I can’t imagine that happening, seeing as I’ve still got this,” He gestured to the brand on his neck that marked him as a slave. “But if it did, I’d probably want no part of it. Gods know that the court isn’t the friendliest at the best of times and most everyone here would be aghast to call someone with a slave mark king, even if they were a slave no longer.” 

Priscilla raised an eyebrow at him and waited. Jaskier followed the train of thought and abruptly felt his blood run cold. “They’d probably treat a runaway who became a mercenary the same way or worse, since he  _ chose _ to leave the safety of his family. But I still can’t imagine—how has he done as king? If he didn’t want the position, I can’t imagine that he’s doing that good a job at it.” 

Priscilla finally looked away from him with a sigh. “Not much has come out about what he’s up toI haven’t heard much. Like I said, it sounds like he’s trying to clean up the mess of the court. I heard he’s sent all his nobility away, back to their own fiefdoms.” Such an act was unheard of; kings, and especially kings who were rabid to keep their nobility under control, tended to want them as close as possible to keep an eye on them. Jaskier frowned. “What he does all alone in that castle, I have no idea, if he’s not got any nobles there to distract him, but I guess there was a lot to do.” She shrugged again. 

Jaskier rubbed his palms over his eyes, trying to comprehend everything Priscilla was saying. It sounded like a children’s story, like something someone would make up when they were trying to come up with the most fantastical lies they could. 

“What about the slaves?” It wasn’t Jaskier who asked, but Essi, who’d been sitting mostly silent and listening to their conversation. “I’ve heard tell of a city of nothing but slaves in Rivia, one where they’re all equal, and they’re treated fairly.” 

Priscilla shook her head. “I’ve heard the same, but there can’t be any truth to it. Even if there  _ were _ such a settlement like that, any king who heard of it would quash it immediately.” She was frowning. “It would do nothing but stir trouble, and I imagine that there would be a rebellion on their hands if other slaves knew that there was a place like that. Soon you’d have no more slaves in the entire country.” 

Jaskier didn’t comment, instead thinking about the truth to her statement. Was a country without slaves such a bad thing? He hadn’t met many people against the practice in his time, but there were always rumors, protests, things of that sort. 

When Priscilla slapped her palms down on the table both Jaskier and Essi jumped, not expecting it. “Anyway, we should know better than to gossip like school children. We’ve got to go up soon, and take over for the other girls.” She looked from Essi to Jaskier and then back again. “You both swear not to speak a word of what I told you to anyone else, right?” They nodded, and she breathed out a sigh. “Good. I don’t want it on my head if it gets back to the king that his pleasure slaves are discussing such things.” 

Jaskier shivered at the idea and shook his head more vehemently in protest of the idea. “No, of course not, Pris.” 

Priscilla said no more and instead stood and walked over to the bedrooms to wake Cassandra, who’d apparently been asleep. Once they were gathered, they ascended the stairs from the slave quarters, with Jaskier at their side. 

All in all, Jaskier decided after being at court for a full year, he didn’t hate it as much as he could have. It was worse than where he’d been before, sure, but it  _ could _ have been a lot worse, and really, it wasn’t so bad. Being sent out to service far away nobles was even kind of fun—at least when they weren’t the sort that enjoyed causing pain like the baron. The next few times Jaskier was sent out, two and six months after his trip to the baron, it was normal and he was treated much better by the various nobility than he usually was in the castle. He got the feeling that they expected him to be reporting back to the king about the way he was treated, but no such thing was asked of him. It would have been a good idea for the king to use his pleasure slaves as a way to ferret out information, but the king hadn’t thought to do so and Jaskier wasn’t about to offer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do we feel about the palace gossip? Jaskier is such a ho for drama lol, he was eating it up with a spoon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been *waiting* to be able to post this chapter, I promise things will pick up some in the plot from here on out, and I'm soooo excited to think what y'all think! 😁
> 
> Also, two very quick content notes before we dive in - I've gotten a couple comments about the fact that nobody has even mentioned the existence of witchers yet, and that's for a reason. Unfortunately the full explanation will come in time, since it wouldn't fit anywhere sooner (I checked) but I can promise that there *are* witchers in this AU and it'll get explained.....at some point. Lol. I'm sorry. 
> 
> Content note #2 is that there is more non-con in this chapter, I'd assume that by now you'd have read the tags, but just as a heads up, that's a thing. It's a little more graphic than it has been previously, but I tried not to harp on it. I had to include it in more detail because of plot reasons, but it is absolutely not between any of the main pairings.

When he’d been at court just shy of two years’ time, Jaskier was told that he was to be escorted to the baron he’d met a year prior. Apparently the baron had turned around his losses and the king was very pleased with his efforts. Jaskier was to be his reward, as he’d requested.

Jaskier supposed that it should have been flattering, in a way, that he’d made such an impression on the man (there had really been more of an  _ impression _ made on Jaskier) but the only thing he could dredge up at the idea of seeing the man again was a dull fear and hollow disgust. The idea of getting to see Cilia again and all the other household staff bolstered his mood, though, and he consoled himself with the memories of Cilia’s hands on him, healing the worst of his injuries. He wasn’t to stay quite such a long time this trip, so hopefully he’d be able to avoid any lasting injuries. 

This time Jaskier wasn’t accompanied by the king’s advisors, since the baron had started doing quite well for himself and their meddling wasn’t needed. The guards were less in number as well—only three of them were sent with him, all riding horses, while Jaskier walked alongside. They made the trip as quickly as they were able and soon Jaskier found himself staring up at the baron’s manor once more. He gulped as one of his guards stepped up and spoke with one of the manor guards (of which there seemed to be more this time, but that made sense, since the baron could probably afford more now) before getting a nod and a wave inside. 

The inside of the manor was quieter than Jaskier remembered. He was already itching to go down to the kitchens and find Cilia. His guards stayed with him as they entered, though, and before Jaskier could slip away, one of them grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. 

“You’re here as a gift to the baron, whore, so don't dally." The guard jerked his chin upwards, towards the manor's bedrooms. "He doesn't get out of bed much. Leg hurts him too bad. Go up and make sure he knows you're here." The guard gave Jaskier a nasty sort of grin, one that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "No point in waiting, hmm?" 

When the guard let go of his shoulder, Jaskier stumbled, righting himself after another moment. He had the distinct feeling that the guard knew what Jaskier was in for and took a sick pleasure in it. 

Jaskier gave the guard a nod and walked further into the manor, ducking down one hallway and out of view of the guards who were still lingering in the entrance hall. If Jaskier was lucky, they wouldn’t realize he wasn’t going straight to the baron; he hoped that luck was on his side and they didn’t know the layout of the house. Jaskier slipped down one hallway and then another before making his way down another flight of stairs, and found himself in the kitchen. 

He remembered it well. Stepping into the room felt like no time had passed at all. After a moment, Jaskier took another look around the kitchen and frowned, the feeling of sameness wearing thin quicker than he'd have liked. 

The kitchen was more sedate than he'd ever seen it and Jaskier's eyes landed on Cilia almost instantly. She sat hunched forward in her chair, her eyes closed instead of watching the kitchen diligently. Jaskier approached her and hesitated when he was a few feet from her, not wanting to disturb what looked like a well deserved nap. Up close, he could tell that she had bags under her eyes and it looked like it had been a decade since he'd seen her last, instead of just a year. 

After a moment's hesitation Jaskier cleared his throat and Cilia’s eyes snapped open, sweeping up until she met his gaze. Her face lost a few of the worry lines and she smiled, rising up from her chair to throw her arms around him. Jaskier hugged her back, gathering her tightly into his arms, noting that she’d lost weight since he’d seen her last—her frame was thinner than he would have liked to see. 

When she finally pulled back, she gave Jaskier another smile. “I’d heard that Baron Szymon requested your services, but we weren’t sure if you’d actually come or not.” A shadow passed over her face when she mentioned the master of the house, but she pressed on. “I’m—it’s good to see you, Jaskier, even if I’m not happy at what you’re here for.” 

He nodded, giving her a wry grin. “Same here. I’m glad to see you, but I’d prefer different circumstances.” Cilia chuckled weakly, shrugging at him. “But Cilia, tell me, what’s happened since I was here last? There’s almost nobody here, and I heard the baron is bedridden?” 

She grimaced, a frown marring her features, and nodded. “Yes. It hasn’t been a good year.” She sighed. “The baroness passed away about two months after you were last here, and the baron hasn’t been the same.” Jaskier’s eyebrows rose as Cilia spoke and she shook her head before he could respond. “Fell down the stairs.” Her words were heavy with unspoken meaning. “Always a clumsy one, you see, she often had bruises from  _ falling _ or  _ walking into things _ .” 

It was Jaskier’s turn to frown now. He’d gotten a firsthand seat to the cruelty the Baron displayed, his enjoyment at harming others, but Jaskier hadn’t realized that it extended to his wife as well. Usually when a man was a monster behind closed doors he kept it to whores and maids, not the lady of the house, but sometimes monsters just couldn’t hold themselves in check.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Cilia.” At his words Cilia shook her head, waving a hand. 

“It is what it is. I won’t say it was expected, but not entirely surprising either. But since her passing, the baron has been… rather more unpleasant to deal with.” Jaskier winced, images coming to his mind unbidden. He could only imagine how unpleasant the man would have been without a convenient punching bag. “At first he threw himself into his work, the running of the fields around the manor and his lands, looking into everything personally. It was, well, it wasn’t great.” She grimaced. “He spent hours poring over the reports he got from the men working the fields, looking for inconsistencies. There weren’t many— they try to be accurate—but those he did find were pounced on and punished with abandon.” 

Jaskier winced again. He gripped Cilia’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry.” 

She shook her head. “It wasn’t me that got the worst of it, it was the baron’s men. He went a little mad with it, yelling obscenities at those who dared question his attacks and raised the taxes on all of the people of his lands, to the point where most are going hungry.” She sighed. “We lost a fair few of our number here at the house. Many had to return home to help their families tend the fields. The work here is good work, but the baron doesn’t compensate as he should and they were needed more at home.” 

Jaskier nodded, listening intently. 

“But we kept going as best we could, of course.” Cilia said. “The servants of the house take pride in what we do and we strive to do it well. But the baron slashed our wages, claiming that he needed the funds more than we did, and we lost even more of our number. About three months ago the baron had a fall, landed on his bad hip, and he’s been confined to bed for the most part since then.” 

Jaskier winced, shaking his head. “I can guess how much that improved his temper.” 

Cilia gave him another wry grin. “The maids have a schedule for who delivers him his meals, so none of them have to do it more than once a week. At least once a day he’ll make one of them cry.” 

“That’s… concerning.” Jaskier said. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing him.” 

Cilia nodded at him. “He’s been rather surly, but as he’s bedridden, he’s mostly unable to do much other than yell. Don’t get me wrong, the yelling is bad enough, but at least he’s mostly been kept from putting his hands on my maids.” 

Jaskier nodded even as he suppressed a wince. If the Baron hadn’t been satisfied in months, he’d probably be even rougher than he’d been previously, something Jaskier really wasn’t looking forward to. He was glad that none of the maids had been subjected to such treatment but it didn’t bode well for him. 

Cilia seemed to sense his train of thought. “He’ll be in a right foul mood, but at least you’ll have a fair bit of leverage, seeing as he won’t be able to get up and chase you around. With any luck you’ll satisfy him quickly, since he’s been without for so long,” she said. 

Jaskier chuckled without any humor. “Well, I can hope.” He shrugged and Cilia clucked her tongue at him. 

“I can’t promise it’ll be a good night for you, but once you’re done, you come find me and I’ll fix up the worst of it.” Her tone was pitched quiet but Jaskier heard and offered her a smile. 

“I’ll do that, thank you.” He nodded at her. “Now, I’m already supposed to be seeing to the baron, I believe. I’ll catch hell if my guards learn that I’m not tending to him, so I should probably head upstairs without more delay.” 

Cilia raised an eyebrow at him. “And when exactly was the last time you ate, then?” 

Jaskier frowned as he thought. “Uh, last night, I think? We left early this morning since the guards wanted to arrive today and they didn’t bother feeding me. But it’s fine, Cilia, I’ll eat later.” 

She shook her head at him. “Oh no, if you’re going to face down that awful man alone you’re going to be well fed before you do.” With surprisingly strong hands she pushed him towards the back of the room and sat him down before placing a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread in front of him. Jaskier didn’t bother arguing and instead just grabbed the bread, dipping it into the lukewarm liquid. 

He ate as quickly as he dared and soon he’d finished off the meal under Cilia’s watchful eyes. When he was done he got an approving hum and she dropped a warm hand onto his shoulder. “Alright, that’s about as much as I can do for you for the moment, I think.” She sighed and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Were I able to keep you from having to do what’s required of you, I would.” 

Jaskier’s heart softened at that and he shot her a smile of thanks. She squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go and then stepped back to let him stand up. Jaskier stood and turned towards Cilia, giving her a quick one-armed hug before turning back to the entrance to the kitchen. 

“I’m off, then.” He looked back and shot Cilia a saucy wink, or at least the best facsimile he could manage. “Don’t wait up for me then, darling.” 

Without another word Jaskier made his way out of the kitchen and towards the stairs at the back of the house. He knew his way to the Baron’s rooms from the last time he’d been there and while he wasn’t exactly hurrying to get there he also didn’t take too long dawdling, aware that he was already pushing his luck by staying away so long. 

Jaskier knocked on the baron’s door softly, and when there was no response he cracked the door open softly, peering into the room. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom, he realized that the baron himself was asleep in bed, laying flat on his back. The sight was a surprise but not an unwelcome one and Jaskier breathed out a sigh of relief. Since the man was asleep, he likely wouldn’t know that Jaskier had taken his time heading upstairs. 

As he looked down at the softly snoring man, Jaskier made the decision not to wake him, despite the fact that the kindness likely wouldn’t be appreciated. He wasn’t in any hurry to be hurt. Jaskier settled himself into a cozy armchair to the side of the bed, getting comfortable to wait. 

He didn’t have anything to do while he waited, but it wasn’t too much of a hardship, as he’d gotten used to days spent silent and bored standing on the king’s wretched daises. He let his gaze rest on the baron, so that when the man shifted, he’d catch the movement, and then sent his mind wandering, composing lyrics and melodies in his head. Jaskier had spent many a day like that, composing in his mind while he whiled away the hours. It wasn’t that unpleasant considering the alternative. 

The shades in the room were drawn but not completely, so as the afternoon lengthened and the sun started to set, Jaskier could see the time passing. He didn’t move from his chair, watching the baron for signs of consciousness, and just kept composing as he waited. 

When the sun had finally set, the baron stirred in his bed, grumbling something in his sleep. Jaskier’s eyes locked on to the man’s form and he held his breath, watching. The baron shifted around under the bedcovers and then grimaced, clearly having aggravated his painful hip. With that, the man’s eyes finally flew open and he looked at the ceiling for long moments, sighing. 

The man’s face, Jaskier noted, was much more attractive when it wasn’t scrunched in fury, and he took a second to inspect the man. If Jaskier had seen him in passing, not knowing what kind of a man he was, he’d even have said the baron was rather handsome. But of course the moment passed, and when the baron turned to the side and saw Jaskier sitting there, he sneered, pushing himself up the bed in order to better glare at him. 

“What are you doing there, huh?” The baron’s face was twisted with disgust, lust, and anticipation and Jaskier had to fight a full body shiver. “You’re supposed to be here for me, you whore, not to sit there and while away the hours I’ve got you for.” 

Jaskier cast his eyes down towards the floor, dipping his head. “My apologies, my lord, I was told to service you but when I saw you were asleep, I decided not to wake you as my lord’s rest and comfort is tantamount.” He was laying it on a little thick, but the baron wasn’t one to mind a little groveling. “I’d hoped that when you woke, you’d be well rested. I’d hoped you would be excited to have me and wanted to ensure that you would be able to have me all night long, as I want your cock, sir.” 

The words were bitter in his mouth and Jaskier forced them out, hoping he didn’t sound  _ too  _ unhappy at the prospect. The baron scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“You, boy, are here to do what  _ I _ want, not get what you want.” The baron said. “And trying to get out of it, no matter what you try to say, isn’t going to cut it.” His tone dripped with venom and Jaskier just nodded, eyes still downcast. 

“Yes, my lord, of course. How may I please my lord?” 

The baron grunted. “Clothes off. And get my cane.” He pointed to the other side of the room, where the cane stood propped against the wall by the door. Jaskier unfolded himself from the armchair and quickly crossed the room, gathering the cane and bringing it back to the baron, who took it wordlessly. Before he could speak again Jaskier started undressing, shedding the few layers he wore quickly. He wasn’t about to incur the man’s ire any more than he had to and after another minute Jaskier stood bare beside the bed as the baron looked him over. 

When the baron pushed himself up, using his arms to propel himself backwards until he sat half-reclining against the pillows, Jaskier bit his lip, unsure whether to offer to help. The man would probably balk at any offers of assistance, but he was clearly in pain as he moved and Jaskier worried that the pain would only make the man grumpier. 

Eventually after an excruciating few minutes the Baron was mostly upright and able to look down his nose at Jaskier. Jaskier stood still, keeping his eyes cast down as he waited for orders. 

"On the bed. Lay on your stomach over my knees." The baron said. Jaskier hurried to comply, laying himself over the man's lap without delay. He was tense as he lay there trying to anticipate the man's next move but he didn't expect the first hit until it landed across his naked back. The baron's cane was maybe two inches around and made from a hard sturdy wood, and when it connected with the skin of Jaskier's back he yelped, too startled to control his reaction. The baron laughed meanly before snapping the cane down against Jaskier's back once more. 

They continued on like that for some time, with the baron hitting Jaskier as hard as he was able and Jaskier trying to keep from screaming. The baron wasn't careful about keeping the hits from overlapping and soon Jaskier's whole back was one large ache. 

When the baron finally slowed, his hand pausing in the hits, Jaskier sighed in relief. He was almost looking forward to the sex, if only to get a change of pace. But the relief didn’t last long as the baron barked out another order before Jaskier could do anything else. 

“Flip over.” 

Jaskier did and was rewarded with another thwip of the cane, the hit landing directly across one nipple and making his body jackknife up, trying to escape the unexpected pain. The baron just grunted and pushed at Jaskier’s side, shoving until he lay on his back further down the baron’s legs, his stomach and chest still uncomfortably exposed. Jaskier felt  _ vulnerable _ in a way he hadn’t before, knowing the man could do whatever he wanted and no guards would come running if Jaskier screamed. That had always been the case, but somehow the reality was more intense this time. 

The baron busied himself caning down Jaskier’s front, taking delight in landing hits across Jaskier’s nipples. When the hits dropped lower, down Jaskier’s stomach and getting dangerously close to his cock, he winced and tried to surreptitiously close his legs. Jaskier didn’t hold any special fondness for his cock, at least, not any more than any other part of his body, but he didn’t enjoy the thought of an errant blow landing anywhere near his nether regions. The baron laughed when he noticed Jaskier’s maneuvering but didn’t actually land any hits on his cock or his balls, to Jaskier’s surprise. 

“Don’t worry, slut, we’ve got all the time in the world.” The baron said. His voice was low and dangerous and he ran a hand over the red welts that he’d left on Jaskier’s stomach. “Plenty still left to come, hmm?” 

Jaskier shivered, closing his eyes, and he nodded at the man. “Y-Yes, my lord.” 

The baron grunted again and dropped the cane to the side. “But for now, I think I’m done with that.” His hands pushed against Jaskier’s skin and Jaskier opened his eyes to see the man looking at him with no small amount of hunger as he pulled Jaskier as he wished. “Up, then. You’ll ride.” 

Jaskier moved where he was pushed until he sat straddling the baron’s hips, feeling the hard bulge of his cock through the covers. He gave the baron a sultry smile that felt about as far from his true thoughts as it was possible to get, and palmed him through the covers. The baron groaned, throwing his head back as Jaskier touched him. When his hips thrust up against Jaskier’s hands, though, he let out a more pained sort of grunt and winced, his own hands coming down to stop Jaskier’s movement. 

“Hold on, can’t—” The baron grunted and shifted again, pulling the covers down his body and shooing Jaskier off so he could free himself. Jaskier moved easily, letting the man untangle himself from the blankets, and when the man’s cock was freed, Jaskier repositioned himself over the baron’s lap. Jaskier wasn’t hard, but luckily didn’t need his cock for this part. “The oil, my lord?” Jaskier kept his voice even even as his hands drifted down the baron’s body to stroke his cock loosely. The baron grunted again, not looking up at Jaskier’s face. When his hands landed on Jaskier’s hips, Jaskier let go of the cock in his hands, earning himself an annoyed grunt. Jaskier schooled his face, not wanting to displease the older man. “My lord, I would caution against forgoing oil. It would hurt not only me but yourself, and I believe that you’d want to be able to… go again quite soon, correct?” 

The baron grumbled but waved a hand towards his side table. When Jaskier leaned over he found a bottle of oil in the drawer and he poured it generously over his own hand before slicking the baron’s cock. He knew better than to imagine that the baron would be interested in preparing Jaskier properly—not many men were—-but Jaskier was nothing if not a professional. It still hurt, but he’d long since gotten the hang of taking a cock without prep. 

Once the man’s cock was oiled fully Jaskier knee-walked up the bed and sat himself on it, sliding down to the hilt in one motion. The baron gasped loudly and tried to thrust up into Jaskier’s heat but instead Jaskier dropped his whole weight against the man’s hips, holding him firmly with his body weight. 

“I’ll ride, but I’m going to keep your hips pinned down.” Jaskier knew he was pushing it with the order, but the thought of what he’d face if the baron injured his already painful hip was worse than his annoyance at the bossiness would be. “I don’t want you pulling your bad hip. I know how badly you want to fuck me, but I’m sure you’d rather not be in pain.” 

The baron sneered at him and reached up, tweaking one of Jaskier’s already sore and hurting nipples. Jaskier gasped, his eyes fluttering shut at the pain, and kept himself from rearing back through force of will alone. When the baron spoke, his tone was nasty. “You’re not going to do anything just because you  _ think _ it’s best. You’ll listen to what I tell you to do and then do it, got it?” Jaskier nodded, eyes still closed, and the baron let go of his skin. When he finally opened his eyes, the man was still glaring at him. “Now ride me.” 

Jaskier did as instructed, levering himself up and down on the man’s lap, bouncing on the cock inside him and clenching rhythmically as he did. The welts across his front and back still twinged painfully, but he ignored it, riding the baron hard and trying to keep the man’s hips pinned to the bed as much as possible without his realizing it. 

As Jaskier rode he kept an eye on the baron’s face, looking down to make sure he wasn’t aggravating any of the man’s injuries. The baron’s eyes had fluttered closed and his head was thrown back into the pillows, mouth open and panting. Jaskier could hear him grunting softly and he sped his rhythm up, wanting to make the man come hard and fast so Jaskier might get some kind of a break before the baron started in with the cane again. 

What Jaskier was  _ not  _ expecting was for a hand to wrap around his mouth from behind at the same time as a knife was pressed into his throat. He gasped against the hand and stopped moving, going absolutely still as he tried to figure out what was happening. Looking down at the baron below him, Jaskier saw that a second man stood beside the bed, holding a second knife to the baron’s throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry but I couldn't resist, darlings, it was just too good of an opportunity! Bwahaha, yes, I'm evil evil evil for ending it like that, and even more evil for posting so early on a monday so that there's like....six hours extra until you get to read the next chapter. Evil, I tell you, evil as Valdo Marx, I am. Do we have any guesses as to who is who?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that I got like 3 pages of comments that mostly consisted of people going "aaaaAAAAAAAHH" to the ending of the last chapter makes me very happy, I'll let you know. That was *exactly* what I was looking for, lol. My apologies that I didn't end up responding to everyone's comments, sometimes my brain is weird, but know that I read and appreciated each and every single one of them and I'm so happy to be able to aggravate everyone to such a degree 😂
> 
> Just as a quick note, I wanted to warn y'all that there's a very brief, blink and you might miss it mention in this chapter where Jaskier says he'd rather commit suicide than be owned by anyone else. The mention isn't graphic at all and he's not going to end up acting on the impulse at any point, but I figured better safe than sorry and wanted to let everyone know ahead of time.

The man holding the knife against the baron’s neck was gigantic; his shoulders were broad, his arms thicker around than Jaskier’s head, and a mane of white hair fell gracefully down around his shoulders. The hair served to obscure Jaskier’s view of his face, not that Jaskier was really sure he wanted to see any more than he already could. 

A deep voice chuckled behind Jaskier’s ear, far too close for comfort, and then he was being tugged back to lean against another muscular chest. The man behind him spoke low, his breath rustling the hair around Jaskier’s ear. “You’re going to let go of him, and move backwards on the bed with me. _Don’t_ try anything stupid.” 

Jaskier nodded, his brain immediately coming up with about a million stupid ways to respond. He quashed them and instead rose up, letting the baron’s cock slide out of him with a squelch. It flopped down against the baron’s stomach, still half-hard, and Jaskier didn’t fight his grimace at the sight. He shuffled backwards on his knees, the man behind him moving in tandem. 

When they reached the edge of the bed the man gave a tug and Jaskier landed on his feet. His legs were wobbly and he tried to hold himself steady, certain that collapsing would just end in his being skewered through the neck. After a moment the knife at his throat disappeared, but the hand around his mouth remained to ensure Jaskier couldn’t cry for help. The thought that guards would come running if Jaskier screamed had him fighting off a round of hysterical giggles and he bit his lip under the man’s hand instead. 

With the knife gone, the man behind him paused and wrapped his other arm around Jaskier’s chest, holding him upright. Jaskier was grateful for the support but he also chafed at being restrained so easily. 

“You might want to close your eyes; this next part isn’t pretty.” The man at Jaskier’s back said smoothly, and Jaskier only had a moment to comprehend what the man had said and slam his eyes shut before he heard the telltale sound of a knife slicing through flesh. The baron gasped out a truly wretched noise from the bed. Jaskier kept his eyes firmly shut, tense in the man’s arms as he waited for it to be over. 

Eventually the man holding him turned them both away and Jaskier cracked his eyes open, checking for anything in front of him that would have him going woozy. No gore, but the man who’d been standing next to the baron, with the white hair, now stood in front of Jaskier. The dagger in his hands was bloody. 

Jaskier's eyes were wide as he stared at the man, his heart beating a mile a minute. In turn the man seemed rather unconcerned with him and instead focused his attention on Jaskier's captor. 

"We should go," the man with the white hair grunted. Jaskier couldn’t help but stare at him, eyes traveling up and down the length of the man's body. Upon first seeing his hair, Jaskier had thought he was middle aged or elderly, but as he calmly wiped his dagger on the end of the bed, Jaskier realized he actually seemed quite a bit younger—perhaps thirty or forty at the most. 

When the white haired man looked Jaskier in the eyes, Jaskier meeped against the hand covering his mouth, feeling speared. His eyes were molten gold and his gaze was heavy as he looked at Jaskier, inspecting him as though he were a puzzle the man didn’t want to solve. Jaskier tried to look as unthreatening as possible, his eyes going wide and teary as he leaned back against the broad chest behind him. It wasn’t that hard, really, considering just how massive the two men were compared with him—not to mention the fact that he was still naked and dripping oil. 

The man grunted, looking away from Jaskier. "He’s a slave," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fuck.” Another sigh. “We'll take him with us and figure something to do with him later." He waved a hand at Jaskier. "For fuck's sake, look at him." Jaskier could only assume that was a reference to the welts covering his chest and back, just starting to purple into new bruises. 

To Jaskier's surprise, the owner of the arms restraining him chuckled, his chest rumbling with the noise. "Of course you'd say that. You’ve always been too soft for your own good." His tone was amused and Jaskier grunted against the hand at his mouth. The man abruptly stopped laughing, tightening his hold on Jaskier warningly. "You're going to stay quiet until we're out of here." The words were quietly dangerous, murmured in Jaskier's ear. Jaskier froze once more, giving the smallest incline of his head to show that he'd heard the man. 

The movement reminded Jaskier just how sore he was. He tried not to wriggle against the man’s hands, his body suddenly screaming out with the aches that adrenaline had temporarily muted. The man holding him didn’t seem to care—he didn’t make any more warnings or threats, instead just holding Jaskier comfortably in his arms as the white-haired man pulled something out of his pocket and held it up to his mouth. 

His voice was quiet, but Jaskier heard it in the stillness of the room. “It’s done.” Only two words, and then the man was pocketing the strange device again, never pausing long enough for Jaskier to get a good look. Both men’s seeming lack of worry that they would be found made more sense when, after a moment, a shimmering portal started unfolding near the door. It was magic, difficult magic at that, and Jaskier shivered at just how powerful these men must be, that they had a trained mage on their side. 

He didn’t have long to consider the thought, because as soon as the portal finished unfolding, new pieces of it drawing back as it built itself out of thin air, the man holding him started walking, pushing Jaskier along towards the portal. He was still holding Jaskier firmly and didn’t need too much help from Jaskier himself, who found it hard to make his body do as he bid. 

As Jaskier stared at the portal, the understanding of what they were going to do to him sunk in all at once. Jaskier’s heartbeat kicked up several notches, suddenly aware that not only were the two men discussing just _taking_ him, they actually seemed to have both the manner and means to do exactly that. He dug his heels into the rug and to his surprise, the man pushing him forward stopped as well, taken aback by Jaskier’s sudden resistance. 

With his heart in his throat and a spike of adrenaline urging him on, Jaskier was caught between the knowledge that he had no chance of escaping and the knowledge that he had to _try_. He was more muscular than one could reasonably expect a slave to be, but his muscles wouldn’t hold a candle to the men’s brute force—he needed to do something else, something that would take them by surprise. 

Jaskier went boneless, dropping like a sack of potatoes out of the man’s arms. He heard a grunt above him but the man reacted just a millisecond too slowly, his hands grabbing for Jaskier’s bulk and missing by a hair. As he hit the carpet, Jaskier managed to flip himself over onto his knees. He lunged for the door to the room, but a hand caught his ankle and pulled him backwards, tugging him away from the door without effort. The man with the grip on his ankle gave one hard pull and Jaskier skidded the rest of the way back to him, hissing as the carpet rubbed his knees raw. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” The man got arms around Jaskier’s chest once more, holding Jaskier tight. Jaskier kicked out mindlessly, though his blows landed on the man to no effect. He waited patiently until Jaskier slowed and then stopped after a minute of fruitless struggling. Jaskier was left breathing heavily, his escape having gone more or less how he expected it would. The men clearly had the advantage of size, strength, and numbers on him. The man slipped a hand around his mouth once more, despite the fact that Jaskier hadn’t even tried to yell for help. He hadn’t even _thought_ to yell, trained to be silent when he was unsure or uncomfortable with what was taking place. “Hmmph.” The man readjusted his grip on Jaskier, the hold tight and supporting him under the armpits so Jaskier couldn’t pull the same trick twice. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

This time Jaskier couldn’t fight the hold at all. He slumped, letting the man lead him back towards the portal. If these men succeeded in just _taking_ him like one would a bag of flour, Jaskier would belong to them just like any other object. The silver-haired one had seemed genuinely upset by the bruises covering his chest, which was something, although it was just as likely the man wanted to leave his own bruises on Jaskier. 

His mind was whirring so fast that Jaskier only realized how close they’d gotten to the portal when the man lifted him bodily, hefting him up like a bag of flour so his feet just brushed the floor. The man put one foot and then the other into the portal. Jaskier couldn’t see anything on the other side, just a swirl of colors, and he held his breath as he felt the man’s gait continue even though he couldn’t see any progress. The man continued to hold him up, bearing nearly all of Jaskier’s weight (for which Jaskier was grateful, since he was certain his own legs wouldn’t have cooperated if they were needed) until they were both through the portal and standing on the other side. 

Jaskier’s first thought, once he was on solid ground on the other side of the portal, was that he did _not_ like portaling. He didn’t fall to his knees retching, but that was mostly due to the arms still keeping him upright. 

As soon as they were both through—the silver-haired man following a second later—the portal closed behind the three of them without a sound. The man holding Jaskier finally let go of him, the hand coming away from his mouth as his arm pulled back from it’s hold on Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier stumbled, not expecting the sudden freedom, and had to be caught once more before he fell on his face. 

This time, however, the hand was at his elbow, and he looked up to see the face of the man who’d been manhandling him staring back at him with concern. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he took the man in; he was just as broad as he'd felt, and surprisingly, just as handsome as the man with the silver hair. A set of two long scars ran down the side of his face, cutting through the corner of his mouth—Jaskier couldn’t help but stare, taking him in. 

When the man noticed Jaskier’s reaction he grimaced, the expression contorting his face further. “Right, nearly forgot,” the man said. Before Jaskier could react, he pulled away, releasing Jaskier’s elbow once he was stable. Jaskier steadied himself while the man stepped back, flicking his hair over the worst of the scars. Jaskier winced at having caused the man discomfort, and cast his eyes down at the floor in hopes of not offending further. 

A scoff to their left had Jaskier looking up again almost immediately, seeking out whoever had joined them. It was a woman with dark hair spilling over her shoulders and an amused glint in her eyes. “You decided to bring a stray home, did you?” 

The man with the silver hair grunted at her, annoyed, but her expression didn’t change. When he spoke, it was with a growl. “Didn’t really mean to, Yen, but they were… _busy_ when we portaled in. Couldn’t leave him there, didn’t want to kill him.” A shrug was all that marked the words, all that the consideration of Jaskier’s life was worth. The woman’s—Yen’s—expression didn’t change, but she swung her eyes over Jaskier’s still very naked body. He fought the urge to fidget, willing himself still through years of being leered at while naked, and after a few more moments of inspection, she finally looked away. 

“Well, he should be easy enough to find a place for.” She didn’t sound particularly concerned with him and Jaskier straightened. 

“What does that mean?” At Jaskier’s words, all three of them startled, looking around to face him. “You’re...you’re the Ghost, aren’t you? You killed the baron. Like you have with—with so many people.” The realization had Jaskier shaking, his legs threatening to give out for real as he realized the depths of the situation he found himself in. “What are you going to do with me? What does ‘find a place for me’ mean? If it’s some kind of—code, or you’re planning to fuck me, I’m not—I won’t. I don’t care anymore, I’m done. Just kill me—or I’ll find a way to do it myself.” 

The scarred man was the first to respond to his outburst, giving Jaskier a wry smile. “Well, you can talk after all. I was a little worried you were one of the ones without tongues. I’ve heard they do that sometimes.” 

Jaskier balked at the idea, rearing back. “I have a tongue, thank you very much. It’s not my fault that you were _muzzling me_ like a dog. And I’m—wait, who does that? I’ve never heard of any slaves with their tongues cut out, let alone—” He cut off abruptly, snapping his mouth shut. They knew what kind of a slave he was, they _had_ to know, what with the marks still covering his body and the fact that he’d been on top of the baron when they entered the room. Jaskier had been about to point out that a pleasure slave without a tongue wouldn’t be nearly as useful before he cut himself off, worried that saying it aloud would remind them of exactly who he was and what he was for. 

When it became clear that Jaskier wasn’t going to speak further, the silver haired man stepped forward to look at him with a more somber expression. “We’re not going to kill you, or… do anything else to you.” He frowned, looking Jaskier over. “But it’s dangerous, your having seen us. You can’t leave here without us having some kind of reassurance that you won’t tell anyone.” 

Jaskier threw his hands up and spun on his heel, walking a few steps away from the man. “Ah yes, I’ve seen your faces. Yes, alright, even I can figure out you’re the bloody Ghost, but I won’t—you have to know that I wouldn’t tell anyone. What good would it do me? I’m a slave—it’s not like anyone would take me seriously. They'd just have me whipped for even mentioning you.” As he moved, Jaskier saw more of the room they’d been portaled to and he trailed off, looking around. 

The size of it was a clue in and of itself, but he hadn’t really noticed the walls before that moment. As he looked around, he saw with no small amount of confusion that the room was eerily similar to the palaces he was used to. The same level of wealth was on display, the same kinds of adornments on the pillars, and while it was empty at the moment, Jaskier would bet money (if he’d had any) that filled with people and guards it would serve well as a ballroom. Which meant he stood in either a palace or an incredibly well done facsimile. 

When Jaskier turned back around to face the man with silver hair, he looked at him with fresh eyes, seeing a man who stood with the feral grace that came with honing oneself into a weapon, even as his posture hinted at the self-assuredness of royalty. As Jaskier met his eyes once more, the man—the _king_ —raised a white eyebrow at him. Jaskier opened his mouth and then closed it again, unsure whether the question would be foolishly obvious or foolishly ignorant. 

The man didn’t seem to expect a response from him and instead gave him a small smirk as he saw the cogs in Jaskier’s head turning. He nodded at Jaskier. “Welcome to Rivia.” 

It was quite a lot to take in and Jaskier felt his vision darkening worryingly at the edges as he tried to process that he’d been kidnapped—stolen, really—by an assassin of legend who was also, apparently, the fucking King of Rivia. Jaskier half wanted to laugh at the irony of it all—that he’d never known a life where he wasn’t owned by some form of royalty or another—but instead he just snapped his mouth shut, focusing on not passing out. 

“Eskel, he looks like he’s going to faint.” The woman’s voice was flat and uninterested, and Jaskier didn’t even get the chance to turn in her direction before his vision tunneled and he felt himself swaying.

**Author's Note:**

> I run a thirst/fanfiction discord server and it's lovely being around people who like talking about fic! 💕 If you want to join, you can find us at [ https://discord.gg/UQzEbqn ](https://discord.gg/UQzEbqn)


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